


Dizzy Up the Boy

by jericho



Category: Backstreet Boys, NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jericho/pseuds/jericho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a crossover series based on the novel "Dangerous Liaisons." It replaces the characters with members of *NSYNC and Backstreet Boys. Don't ask why. Just go with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday night

**Author's Note:**

> "When I came out into society I was 15. I already knew then that the role I was condemned to, namely to keep quiet and do what I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity to listen and observe. Not to what people told me, which naturally was of no interest to me, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide. I practiced detachment. I learned how to look cheerful while under the table I stuck a fork into the back of my hand. I became a virtuoso of deceit. I consulted the strictest moralists to learn how to appear, philosophers to find out what to think, and novelists to see what I could get away with, and in the end it all came down to one wonderfully simple principle: win or die."
> 
> \- Marquise de Mertreuil
> 
> **
> 
> Written in 2000.
> 
> My notes then:
> 
> This is a series based on the novel "Les Liaisons Dangereuses" (Dangerous Liaisons) by Choderlos De Laclos, with the main characters replaced with members of our two illustrious boy bands.
> 
> WARNING: I hate to have to put this here, but it's only fair. Remember how Dangerous Liaisons ends? Someone dies. It's the same thing here.

_"I wanted you before we'd ever met. My self esteem demanded it. Then when you began to pursue me, I wanted you so badly. It's the only time I've ever been controlled by my desires. Single combat."_

\- Marquise de Mertreuil

* * *

 

The long caravan of busses wound its way down the narrow country roads, cornering slowly like a centipede, past lush fields of corn or barley or whatever else it was upstate New Yorkers grew. With each mile it nudged closer to the giant field where, in just one short day, thousands of people would climb over each other to get closer to the stage, and that swell of screaming Justin knew so well would rise and shatter the sedate air. 

Justin curled up on the pillows next to the window, looking out at the broad fields and nondescript houses, his favorite pair of sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. He fumbled with his new "jTr" pendant, running his fingers over the smooth gold and flipping the pendant around on its thick chain. It was brand new. A gift from none other than Brian McKnight. It was too expensive to wear every day, for normal stuff. Instead he wore it to awards shows and movie premiers. But sometimes he wore it on the bus, just because he liked the heavy feel of it around his neck, the solid gold against his skin and the little scratch of the diamonds that sparkled on the "T." 

Joey ranted in the background, still on the same tired topic that Joey had been ranting about for two weeks. The Backstreet Boys. 

They'd been hesitant, at first, to join in a "teen pop" music festival. They'd eventually agreed because they'd get top billing, half a million dollars for one performance, and because it was in the same field where the last two Woodstocks had been held. It wasn't until two weeks before the festival weekend, when it was too late to pull out, that they discovered the Backstreet Boys were on the same bill. 

"Someone is going to get fired for this," Joey had said. It was hard to say who was really at fault. It could be their management for poor planning and research ability. It was probably the concert organizers, who wanted both groups there so badly that they were willing to lie to both of them to get them there. Justin didn't even mind that much, really. The Backstreet Boys were closing the show on Sunday night, but Saturday night was the better night. By the time the Backstreet Boys went on stage, everyone in the crowd who had spent three days wading through the mud would have gone home. *NSYNC were the stars of the show. This was also another chance to see Nick Carter, which Justin had never turned down. 

The bus wobbled off the road and onto a gravel path. Justin could hear the crunching sound under the tires, the scrape of tree branches at the mouth of the trail. Right now, the festival area consisted of nothing more than a huge, grassy slope. But tomorrow it would be filled with tents, the entrance packed with people pushing their way onto the field. People there to see him. 

"We should _not_ have shown up two days early," Joey said. "I don't care how much press is going to be here. We should have shown up 10 fucking minutes before we were supposed to go on stage." 

Justin rolled his eyes at the window, catching his reflection in the clean glass. The busses pulled around behind the stage, wobbling off-kilter on the grass before they stopped in the off-limits area. The area where a few dozen teen pop acts, from small-time names getting their first break to people like *NSYNC and Dream, would live out of their tour busses for the next four days. 

"Someone should wake up JC," Lance said. 

Justin felt everyone's eyes on him. He sighed. "JC!" he called from where he was sitting. "We're here!" 

"Or I'll do it," Lance said. Justin heard him stand and head down the hallway. 

Justin's eyes moved across the grass, between the dozens of busses already parked there, some with their doors open and drying towels hanging out of the windows. He didn't even have to see him to know that he was coming around the bend. That tall, strong body that could pin anything underneath it. That shock of naturally blond hair that either hung limply or stuck straight out in faux messy angles. Those eyes like ice chips, cold and crystal blue. And then he did come around the corner, and Justin smiled and said his name out loud. "Nick Carter." 

"Oh, fuck," Joey said. "Why do you talk to that guy?" 

Justin's smile stayed frozen, his eyes still locked on Nick. "Because I hate him." 

Chris laid a light hand on Justin's shoulder. "Justin, if there's one thing I like about you, it's that you can always be counted on to make sense." 

Chris looked up in time to see the same thing Justin saw - Nick's gaze lock with Justin's, and the same slow smile spread across his face, like a wildcat humoring its prey. Nick gave a little salute and Justin saluted back. 

"I can't watch," Chris moaned, heading back down the hall. 

Lance appeared behind Justin, close enough that Justin could smell that crisp unisex cologne Lance always wore. Justin looked up and saw Lance cocking his head a little. "What?" Justin asked. 

"I guess he's not bad," Lance said. "Just a little...creepy or something." 

"He's a prick," Justin said. "A complete and total prick. I'd better go talk to him." 

***

It was a pristine night - warm with no breeze, the stars sparkling bright the way they didn't in a town like Orlando. The only sounds for miles were the ones being made by the crew members who were setting up the stage. Someone dropped what sounded like a plank, and the smack echoed through the hills. 

Justin sat on one of the lawn chairs Nick's crew had pulled out of their trailor. Nick sat next to him, head back, eyes lazy, hand coming to his mouth long enough to take a deep inhale of the joint that he casually handed back to Justin. 

Justin took a deep toke and held the smoke in. He could almost swear he felt it swirling around in his lungs. 

"So where is everybody?" Nick asked. 

"Lance and Joey and Chris are up at the stage," Justin said, his voice strained from holding his breath. "They want it to look perfect. JC is sleeping." 

Nick smirked. "They're already setting up your shit? You don't even perform until Saturday night." 

"It was part of the deal." Justin handed the joint to Nick, their fingers kissing as Nick took it back. "Where's everybody on your end?" 

Nick sighed. "Brian is probably fondling his rosary. Kevin's on the phone with his wife. AJ's probably off fucking the closest thing he can find, and Howie is probably masturbating constantly." 

"As per usual?" Justin asked. 

"I guess." 

Justin leaned on the arm of the chair and watched Nick. He loved the way Nick inhaled. Nick always held the joint between his thumb and his forefinger, and his tokes were exaggerated, his body swaying back a little every time he took one. "And what about you?" Justin asked. "What are you doing?" 

He meant for it to sound coy, but as usual Nick couldn't keep up with the witty reparte. Nick raised an eyebrow. "Well, duh. Sitting here with you." He gave one of his trademark smirks when he passed the joint, and Justin realized he was joking. 

"I read in Rolling Stone that you were the group's biggest masturbator," Justin said. And even as he said it, he couldn't help but think that he liked the idea of Nick masturbating. 

Nick snorted. "When I was, like, 13. Howie took over that title about two years ago." 

Justin's eyes narrowed. The world was already getting a sugar-coated glaze to it, and the way the shadows sliced across Nick's features made Nick look like some kind of Roman statue. "Was that when he decided he wanted dick as his main course instead of just an appetizer?" 

"Something like that." Nick made an "o" with his mouth and blew a perfect smoke ring. Justin watched it shiver in the air and then vanish. "But he doesn't want to upset his strong family moral values. So he's been...." Nick's brow furrowed, like his mind was flipping through the virtual pages of his vocabulary. 

"Abstaining?" Justin offered. 

"Yeah. I'm sure AJ's offered to rock his world a couple of times but Howie won't go for it." 

"Huh," Justin said thoughtfully, not because he really cared but because he wanted to show that he was listening. He took the joint back, holding it carefully, using his fingernails now that it was down to the makeshift paper filter. He sucked as deeply as possible and held the smoke in, concentrating before he tried to exhale a smoke ring. The ring looked more like a jagged oval, and it disappeared the second it drifted away from him. 

Nick snickered. "You suck, Timberlake. It's all in the jaw. You have to like...." Nick opened his mouth and clicked his jaw a couple of times to demonstrate. "You just hold the smoke in your mouth and let it drift out, and you do that every time you want to make a ring." 

Justin couldn't help but smile a little, watching Nick do that with his mouth. He leaned in a little closer, letting his fingertips run across Nick's knee. "And what about you?" he said. "Are you abstaining?" 

Nick had a way of changing the expression on his face in a split second. It changed from happy to annoyed, bored to camera-ready, all in the blink of an eye. And Justin saw it happen then, right in front of him. From amused to seductive. "No," Nick said, his voice a notch lower than usual, and he drew the word out as if to emphasize its meaning. 

Justin leaned a little closer, resting the palm of his hand on Nick's knee, wanting desperately to move it farther up Nick's leg. He wanted those lips wrapped around his cock, that blond head bobbing and those pale hands gripping his thighs. He wanted Nick twisting and panting underneath him, those fingernails dragging across his back. "I was just imagining what else you could do with that mouth." 

Nick threw the butt on the ground, letting it burn to its death between the blades of damp grass. "Would you like to find out?" 

"Oh yeah." 

Nick leaned forward, pale eyelids closing, blond lashes resting on his cheeks. Justin closed his eyes too, feeling Nick's lips get closer to his, and finally the softness as they brushed his mouth. Justin grabbed the back of Nick's neck and pulled him closer, their tongues meeting and melding, Justin's cock reacting predictably when Nick caught Justin's bottom lip lightly between his teeth. 

"Mmm," Justin mumbled. "Do that again." Nick bit his bottom lip again, a little harder this time, and Justin sighed. 

"You know," Nick said against Justin's mouth, "I don't think...." Then he pulled away suddenly, rocking back until he was slumped in his chair. "I don't think I feel like it." 

Justin's brow furrowed, his teeth clenching in an automatic reaction that he couldn't believe he wasn't used to by now. "Why not?" 

"I'm...I'm having my period." 

Nick laughed loudly, like he'd just cracked the world's greatest one liner, and Justin wanted to slap him. 

"Why do you always do that?" Nick asked, still sighing with laughter. "You know what I'm going to say." 

Justin shook his head hard, slumping back in his chair so his position matched Nick's. "I just don't get it, man." He chewed hard at his thumbnail, then realized he looked aggitated and stopped. "I mean, you want me, right?" 

"Definitely," Nick replied. 

"So? I want you. Let's fuck." 

"The great Justin Timberlake pick up line. Do you even know how to go after anybody anymore?" 

Justin tried to look unaffected, to keep whatever was remaining of his dignity intact. "Of course I do." 

"Oh, really? How do you go after them? What's your big line? 'Have you ever heard of me?'" 

"I'm sorry I'm lacking the great pick up skills of Nick Carter, the god of...the god of fuck." 

"The god of fuck," Nick said slowly. "I like that." 

"I was being sarcastic," Justin snapped. "You're the god of fuck and I'm a small Asian woman." 

"Well at least I know how to seduce someone." Nick reached under the lawn chair and pulled out a pair of cold beers, casually passing one to Justin and popping one open for himself. The cap opening made a snap and a sizzle. 

Justin bristled. "I know how to seduce someone." He tried the cap but it was on too tight. He had to put the beer between his legs and tuck the cap in his T-shirt to open it. "When it comes to seducing someone, I've forgotten more than you ever knew in the first place." 

"Oh, really?" Nick said. His tone was lilting. Unbearable. "Name someone. Name someone here that you can seduce." 

"Name someone here I can't." Justin took a huge gulp of the beer, feeling the cold lump move down his throat and rest in his stomach. 

"Okay. Howie." 

Justin snorted. "Howie. You might as well pick one of the girls in the front row." 

He looked over and saw Nick's Adam's Apple bobbing as he drank. He finished his gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, you think Howie would be so easy, do you? The most you'd get out of Howie is _maybe_ him letting you blow him. He'd never let you actually fuck him. And definitely not in the time we're going to be here." 

"Whatever." Justin rolled his eyes and took another swig. "Whatever you say, Nick. I think Howie would be just about the easiest person here." Justin picked at the label of his beer, prying the wet paper loose with his fingertip. "Why? Have you tried it?" 

"No. I just don't think you could." 

"I could!" 

"Okay." Nick leaned forward, surreal eyes almost sparkling in the darkness. "Care to make it interesting?" 

Justin sputtered and giggled, maybe because of the weed and maybe because it was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said to him. "Interesting like how?" 

"A bet," Nick said simply. "I bet you can't sleep with Howie." 

Justin tapped his fingers against the beer bottle, listening to the distant hum of crickets in the distance. Howie. Howie Dorough. As in the little long-haired guy in Nick's group. The one who played a woman in their video. The one who wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful of it. The one who wouldn't say something bad about another person if that person had run over his dog. "Okayyyy," Justin said. "What do I win?" 

"Or a better question, what do you lose?" 

Justin sat up straight and turned sideways in his chair, meeting those icy eyes head on, about a foot away from him now. There was no way he would be the first to break eye contact. "What do I win?" 

Nick's eyes were smiling now, dropping to Justin's neck. Nick reached out, his knuckles brushing across Justin's chest before he ran a soft fingertip down Justin's throat. "If you can't sleep with Howie," Nick said quietly, moving closer so their foreheads were almost touching, "I get this." His finger stopped at Justin's pendant and pulled the chain away from his body. 

Justin gulped. "My pendant?" He looked down to see it, shining and gold against Nick's pale hand. 

"And the chain," Nick said quietly. 

Justin flinched. "This thing is worth, like, $15,000." His fingers wrapped around Nick's wrist and pulled it away. "But it's not even that. Brian McKnight gave it to me." 

"I know," Nick said, his eyes still focused on Justin's throat. 

"Okay. And if I win, what do I get?" 

Nick raised his eyes, so slowly that they seemed to burn pale blue lines along Justin's body. He grabbed Justin's hand and pulled it toward him, resting it on the crotch of his pants. Justin could feel Nick's hard on under his jeans, hot and insistent. "If you win..." Nick said slowly, leaning in so close that Justin could smell the hot, sweet scent of cologne and marijuana. Nick paused to bite Justin's earlobe. "You get to fuck me as hard and as long as you want." 

Justin cleared his throat. Closed his eyes in spite of himself. "What makes you think I'd go for that?" 

And then Nick's hand was running up his leg, stopping when his palm reached and rubbed Justin's own throbbing erection. His voice was low and dark. "If you don't think you can do it...." 

"I can do it," Justin said, his voice dissolving into an exhale when Nick's palm started a slow, pressing rhythm. 

Nick squirmed and moved closer, his tongue lapping at Justin's ear, his hand rubbing so hungrily that Justin pressed his hips forward and a sound came from somewhere in the back of his throat. "Do we have a deal?" 

"Uh huh." 

Nick smiled brightly and pulled away. "Cool." He reached under the chair and grabbed the two remaining beers, tucking them under his arm. "I'd better head in. See you in the morning." 

Justin sat frozen, watching Nick stand and stretch his long legs. Nick paused and smiled at Justin's chest again, his gaze resting on the chain. "I can't wait to sell that and put it towards my Jaguar." 

"Fuck," Justin mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

"The god of fuck," Nick reminded him. He winked and stepped on the tour bus, closing the door behind him. 

  



	2. Friday

First contact came swiftly and without warning. Justin woke up and realized that considering they had the same job, he knew amazingly little about Howie Dorough. He knew about the lupus thing, because it often showed up in the same articles as Justin's foundation under a heading like "Pop stars making a difference." But even then, he'd never actually read Howie's part of the article. 

He wandered to the table and sat down in front of Lance's lap top. Lance already had the Internet set up for him, and now Lance was in the back, milling around the bunks. He was probably unpacking his clothes for the next three days with the same neatness and precision that Lance did everything. 

"Lance," Justin called. "What should I do if I want to search for something?" 

"Go to Google.com," Lance called back. "G-o-o-g-l-e. And type in whatever you're searching for." 

Justin followed the instructions. He typed in "Howie Dorough" and got about a million results. Howie Dorough at Rock Celebs. Howie Dorough at Star Pages. One of the top listings said "The official site," so he clicked on that. 

He rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, waiting for it to load. It said "Connecting to howied.com," and then the screen came up blank. Nothing. 

"Lance," Justin called. "Nothing's showing up." 

"At Google?" 

"No. At this...other place I'm at." 

"Try reloading." 

He hit the reload button and nothing reloaded. Nothing happened at all. Justin growled in frustration. 

"You're using Netscape." 

Justin spun around to find Howie standing there in jeans and a black T-shirt, hair in a ponytail. "It doesn't work in Netscape. I don't know why." 

Justin knew his mouth was open. What was he even doing on the bus? There were few times in his life when he was rendered speechless, and this was one of them. "Oh." 

"Try it in Internet Explorer," Howie suggested. 

Justin looked back at the screen again, trying to remember a time when he'd felt like such a moron. "I don't even know if he has that." 

"Search for it," Howie suggested, leaning in. Justin sat frozen, Howie's chest almost pressed against his face. He clicked a bunch of buttons and doodads and a new window popped up. "There you go." 

Howie walked casually to the hall. "Lance, you got that CD?" 

"Right here," Justin heard Lance say. He couldn't see the exchange, just Howie's back. 

"Thanks," Howie said, giving Justin a little wave before he left. 

Justin stayed frozen, so quiet that Lance poked his head out. "Is it working okay?" 

"I didn't know you knew him." 

Lance shrugged. "I don't, really. He's just borrowing a CD." 

Justin snapped back to reality then, remembering that he was supposed to be working here. "What CD?" 

"Jennifer Lopez. Why?" 

"No reason." 

Justin waited until Lance disappeared to look at the site. It was...purple. Purple everywhere. Enough purple to fill a vineyard. And cheesy, with a picture of Howie in the studio in the right hand corner. There was a "famous friends" section, where Howie had a picture of himself with anyone who had done so much as a television commercial. Justin shuddered, then ran his thumb along his jTr pendant. The diamond-studded one that Brian McKnight gave him. And he kept going. 

He couldn't go for too long without being interrupted again. "Hey!" 

He looked up to see AJ McLean sticking his head in the door. "How's it going?" AJ stepped in the bus and craned his neck, checking down the hallway. 

"Well, come right on in," Justin mumbled to the screen. He wanted to close the window, in case AJ came over, but he wasn't sure how. 

"Lance, you ready?" AJ called. 

"Yep." Lance emerged in a pair of jeans and a new shirt. Justin didn't realize he was making a face until Lance looked at him strangely. 

"Where are you going?" Justin asked. 

"Just taking a walk around," Lance replied. "Getting a look at everything." 

"Well...have fun," Justin said. He was still making a face at the door when they left. 

Nick showed up in the open door a second later. He climbed the steps slowly, still looking behind him. "What the fuck are they doing?" he asked, pointing to the doorway with his thumb. 

"I don't know. I didn't even know they knew each other. Howie just showed up here, too." 

Nick smirked a little as he crossed the room. "I know." He leaned against the back of the booth and looked at the screen. "You're searching the Internet for stuff on Howie?" 

"Yeah," Justin said, staring at the screen. He felt his cheeks get warmer. 

"You _are_ pathetic," Nick said. "You're never going to get him if all you do is sit around doing research." 

Justin bristled. "I know." 

"And Internet sex with someone who pretends they're Howie doesn't count." 

Justin spun sideways so he was facing Nick. "Did you want something? Or are you just here to annoy me?" 

Nick ran his hand along the back of the booth, his palm gliding easily over the smooth wood. "Oh, if only I annoyed you. That would make your life so much easier, wouldn't it?" Justin was still formulating his response when Nick reached over and touched the jTr pendant. "I just came by to see my new necklace." 

Justin shrank back, slapping Nick's hand away. "It's not your new fucking necklace." 

"If you say so." Nick pushed himself into a standing position. "See ya later, Timberlake." 

Justin watched Nick leave and muttered "fuck" under his breath. He wondered why he'd gotten himself into this in the first place. It wasn't that he was afraid of losing, but it was a stupid bet. A stupid waste of time. And now it was too late to back out, because backing out would be admitting defeat, and Nick would probably want the pendant anyway. And there was no way in hell he was surrendering. 

That afternoon, the air went from comfortable warmth to full-on heat. The sun beat down on Justin's shoulders as he wandered around the bus area, his sunglasses perched firmly on his nose. He stopped at the bus he knew Howie was in and studied the open door. Hell, Howie had just walked onto his bus uninvited. Justin could do the same. 

He took a deep breath and climbed the steps. Howie was on the floor, stripped from the waist up, doing push ups. Justin cocked his head to the side a little and watched. Nice arms. When Howie was sweaty, he was almost bordering on attractive. It could be worse. 

Justin cleared his throat and Howie looked up, slinking back into a sitting position. "Hey." 

"Hey," Justin replied, forcing one of his trademark thousand-watt smiles. "Are you busy?" 

"No." Howie grabbed a towel from the table and wiped his brow, curling his legs in and standing. "What's up?" 

What was up, indeed. Justin realized that he'd come on the bus without an answer to that question, and he couldn't believe he'd been that stupid. He searched around for something to comment on and noticed an open magazine on the closest table. He tried to look as casual as possible when he strolled over and glanced at it. 

"Is this your family?" he asked, tapping one of the pictures. 

"Some of them." Howie walked over and looked down at the magazine. He smelled like clean sweat. "That's me and my mom and my sister Caroline." 

"Oh yeah," Justin said in his best "I'm interested" voice. This was a great small talk opportunity. "What's Caroline do?" 

Howie patted at his forehead with the towel again. "Nothing anymore. She passed away about two and a half years ago." 

Oh, fuck, Justin thought. So much for tip-toeing across the battle field. He'd just done the equivalent of stepping on a land mine and blowing half his leg off. Considering that, he figured he recovered fairly quickly. "Sorry to hear that." 

"Thank you." 

Justin's mind raced. Must keep going. Must keep going. Must talk about something else. "Who else is staying on this bus?" 

"Kevin and Brian. We were going to get separate busses for everyone, just for this gig, but it didn't work out in time." 

"That sucks," Justin said. If this conversation was boring Howie half as much as it was boring him, this was definitely not going well. He searched his mind for the information he'd just uncovered, looking for a loose thread to tug. "Nice web site." 

"Thanks. I didn't have a whole lot to do with it, but I'd like to do more with it." Howie looked down at the bunched towel in his hands. "Hang on for two seconds. I'm just gonna hang this up." 

Justin took the split second that Howie was gone to regroup. He flipped through the new "Howie Dorough" file he'd opened in his brain, and he kept coming back to the color purple. You couldn't have an entire conversation about purple. Purple wasn't enough to open a shared bond with someone you had nothing in common with. And there was no way in hell that Justin was going to ask any more family questions. He knew nothing about Latin music. He didn't even know a whole lot about the Backstreet Boys. He could always talk about Orlando. Yeah, that was good. He could always open up a good, old-fashioned Lou Pearlman bitch session. 

Howie returned, grabbing his T-shirt off the bench and flopping down. He tucked his leg against his chest and looked at Justin expectantly, like he was still wondering what Justin wanted. 

"Can you salsa?" Justin asked suddenly. Even as he said it, he wondered where the hell it had come from. And he didn't even blame Howie when Howie started to laugh. 

"What?" 

"You know," Justin said, "that samba kind of...lambada, whatever you call it...." He moved his hips a little to demonstrate. 

"A little, I guess. Just from taking dance lessons when I was a kid." 

Justin brightened. Maybe Howie laughing wasn't a bad thing. "Can you teach me?" 

Howie waved his hand in the air, still grinning. "Like, right now?" 

"Now or later. Tonight or something." It has to be tonight, Justin thought. I don't have that much time. 

Howie tapped his fingers on the table, watching his hand as he did it. "I guess. Okay. I mean, I can teach you what I know." 

"Cool," Justin chirped. "I'll be back tonight." He flashed another grin and left waving broadly. 

When he got back, Lance and AJ were sitting on some upturned crates they must have found nearby. As he rounded the corner, he saw AJ blow a smoke ring and wondered if AJ was using the Nick Carter Seduction Manual. AJ said something and Lance laughed. 

"What are you doing?" Justin asked when he got close enough. 

"AJ just showed me his vein." 

Justin raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?" 

"On his neck. The vein on his neck. Show him, AJ." 

AJ pulled down the neckline of his T-shirt and a big blue vein flexed under his skin. Lance giggled like AJ was his own personal Seinfeld episode. 

"That's fucking gross," Justin mumbled, climbing the steps into the bus. 

Chris was at the table inside, sitting sideways in the booth with his legs curled to his chest, concentrating on a Rubick's Cube. "Look what I found," he said proudly. "One of the crew gave it to me." 

"Fascinating," Justin said. "Do we have anything to eat in here?" 

"I think there's some beef jerky in the cupboard." Chris looked down and twisted another column, matching up a row of reds. "Your stalker is here." 

Justin rifled through the cupboard and found a single-serving bag of Smart Food popcorn. "Really?" 

"Well, he tried to get in. Security noticed him and booted him out again." 

Justin leaned back on the counter and opened the bag with a neat tug. "Doesn't that guy have a life?" 

"Well, duh. No. He's a stalker." Chris studied the cube and matched up another row of reds. "That guy creeps me out. You just want to go over and yell at him. 'Find something else to do!'" 

"He's just some loser." Justin popped a couple of kernals into his mouth. "Hey, you know Howie, don't you?" 

"Howie Dorough?" 

"No. Howie Mandel. Of course, Howie Dorough." 

Chris shrugged at the cube. "Yeah. Sort of. I mean, we went to the same school, but I've talked more to him since I've been in *NSYNC than I ever talked to him then." 

Justin crunched thoughtfully. "How come?" 

"I don't know. He's a quiet guy. I guess he likes quiet people." 

Justin smirked. "Okay, that's definitely not you." 

"I know." Chris turned the cube and held it up proudly. "Look! I got red." 

"Good, Chris." Justin folded the bag in half and set it on the counter. "Don't eat my popcorn." 

"I won't." 

Justin took a couple of steps toward the bunks, almost there when he thought about it again and came back to take the popcorn with him. 

  



	3. Friday night

If there was one thing Justin knew how to do, it was dress for an occasion. He knew his best features and he knew how to show them off. First, there was the obvious body issue. He knew he was sleek and muscular, so he wore a shirt just tight fitting enough to show off his upper body. He briefly considered rifling through the other guys' stuff for something purple, but in the end he settled on black, because everyone told him he looked good in black. Black set off what he knew were his other good features - his smile and his eyes, because if what was below the neck was simple and unassuming, what was above the neck was easily accentuated. Dressing to Fuck 101, he thought as he checked himself in the mirror for the last time. 

Then he decided what he should smell like. Anything heady and overly masculine was absolutely out. He went over to Lance's bunk - once again, he didn't know where Lance was - and looked in the little grooming kit that Lance carried everywhere. He searched through tubes of hair gel and tooth polish, stopping briefly to raise an eyebrow at the neutral-colored foundation, and finally found a little bottle of CKOne. He didn't think anyone wore CKOne anymore. It was such an early 90s scent. 

Justin took the cap off and smelled it. Not bad, actually. Frosty, but with an undertone of sex. Androgynous. Unisex. And most of all, it wasn't intimidating. He tipped the bottle and dabbed a little on his finger, putting the bare necessity on his neck, because if this stuff was old it would reek like a week-dead corpse. He rubbed at his neck, wanting it to be the kind of smell that you only noticed when you were really close, and twisted the cap back on the bottle. 

He bumped into Lance on his way out. "Where are you going?" Lance asked. 

"Nowhere. Where were you?" 

"Nowhere," Lance replied, but Justin could see a slight flush spread across his face. 

"Where were you?" Justin asked again, firmly this time. 

"I just went down with AJ to watch the show. I just saw Samantha Mumba. You should see the crowd out there, man. I wish I could just go out and wander around without getting mobbed." 

Lance seemed to be trying to deflect the first six words of his sentence, but Justin wasn't fooled. "What's with you hanging out with AJ?" Justin asked. "I didn't even think you knew that guy." 

"It's nothing," Lance said, and God help him, he was actually blushing. 

"Lance," Justin said slyly, "are you kissing boys?" 

"No! No." 

"Are you giving up your hard-earned chastity to the first tattooed loser who comes along?" 

"AJ's not a loser," Lance said. "He's a nice guy. And he's funny." 

Justin rolled his eyes and stepped off the bus, passing various crew members and Mandy Moore. Mandy waved at him in that way that looked like she was tinkling her fingers. Justin gave her an identical wave and went stone-faced again. 

The sun had almost set, and the lights on Howie's tour bus shone through the dusk. He passed Brian and Kevin on their way out, who shot him suspicious looks and kept walking. Justin tapped on the door and walked on to find Howie at the table eating. 

"Hey," Justin said. 

"Hey." Howie swallowed and smiled, motioning to the seat across from him. "Have a seat." 

Justin walked over and slid into the booth, leaning back and getting comfortable. "What's that? It smells great." 

"Pasta Dorough," Howie said, spearing some noodles with his fork. 

"Your family has a pasta named after them?" 

Howie laughed. "No. It's one of my mother's recipes. She kind of threw some ingredients together and came up with it, and that's what she named it. It's really easy to make. It's got parsley, a little clove..." 

Justin gave his best interested smile but tuned out for the ingredients. He tuned back in when he heard "You want some?" 

"Sure." 

Howie set down his fork and slid out of the booth, spooning some pasta onto a plate and popping it in the microwave. "It kind of loses some of its kick when you microwave it, but it's the best I can do." 

"That's cool," Justin said. 

"It's pretty low fat, too. I mean, the worst thing is a touch of whipping cream in the sauce, and it depends on what kind of cheese...." 

More ingredients. Justin tuned out again. But at least he knew how to get Howie talking. 

Howie cut the microwave beep short and took out the plate, setting it in front of Justin. He stood back and wiped his hands lightly on his jeans, looking around. "Where did I put the salt?" 

Justin motioned to the table. "It's right here." 

"Oh. Okay." Howie slid back in and grabbed his fork, a little more timid than he had been when Justin first came in. "So why do you want to learn to salsa?" 

Justin shrugged, grabbing his fork and leaning in to examine the food. "Because it looks neat. It's a very sexy dance." 

"I suppose." 

"And I think I'd be good at it. We could throw it into one of the numbers." 

"And modest, too." Howie chewed and swallowed, then smiled weakly. "Sorry. I'm just kidding." 

Just because no one notices you...., Justin thought, then regained his smile. "I know. No problem." He speared some pasta and popped it in his mouth. Spicy, but not in a domineering kind of way. Salty but not overly so. Just the right mixture of garnishes. He nodded in approval, thankful that this was one less thing he'd have to fake. It was damn good pasta. 

Justin swallowed and wiped his mouth with the napkin. "What's in this again?" 

"Clove, parsley...." 

A few minutes later Howie leaned halfway out of the booth, his body disappearing as he reached in the little fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. Well, Justin thought. He's making this easy. 

"Want a glass?" Howie asked. "Red wine goes great with this stuff." 

"But of course." 

Howie poured some for each of them in plastic cups. "We can't have anything breakable on the bus," Howie said by way of apology. "Nick will bust it within a week." 

Justin took a sip, doing his best not to look interested in that comment. 

Two glasses of wine later, and a belly full of pasta, Justin felt a little giddy. He wondered if drinking wine was the best plan when in a few minutes, he'd have to keep his feet straight. Howie didn't seem affected at all. Justin sat back, watching Howie put the dishes in the mini sink. Howie took another sip from his glass before he licked his lips and smiled. "Ready to start?" 

"Of course." Justin slid out of the booth and stood in the aisle, which didn't have more than three feet on either side of him. Not the best place to dance, but there was little alternative unless they took it out onto the grass. Justin wasn't sure if he wanted to be seen getting a dance lesson from Howie Dorough. 

Howie hit the "play" button on the stereo and jazzy salsa music filled the bus. Justin suspected that salsa music was very basic, because the first word to the song was "Sal-sa!" 

"This is a little fast," Howie said, "but it's all I have with me." 

"That's okay," Justin said. "I can do fast." 

"Okay, so basic steps. Forward right, forward left, back right, back left. Then forward left, forward right, back left, back right. And on your first back left, you don't put a lot of weight on your foot. Just a touch." Howie moved a little to demonstrate. 

"Sounds easy enough." So Justin tried it. Forward right, forward left. Back right, back left. Forward... "Seems like that should be right again," Justin said. 

"It's not. It's left." Howie did another demonstration, but this time he kept moving. 

Justin tried it, watching his feet, smiling when he got a nod of approval. 

"Cool." Howie grabbed Justin's shoulders and turned him so he was facing him, then put one hand in his and his other hand rested on Justin's waist. They were face to face, and for the first time Justin realized how much taller he was than Howie. Howie came up to his nose, roughly. Maybe his forehead if Howie was wearing tall shoes. 

"It's the same as the waltz or the fox-trot of whatever," Howie said. "Open position, closed position." He pulled away a little. "Open." Then he moved back in and cupped Justin's hand in his. "Closed." 

"Open. Closed," Justin said, imitating Howie's movements. "Open. Closed. S'alright? S'alright." 

Howie giggled. This was going well. "So I'm leading. I'm doing the same thing you're doing, only the other way around. I'm the man." 

"You da man," Justin agreed. Then he listened closer. "This sounds like Gloria Estefan." 

"It is. Mi Cuerpo Pide Salsa." 

And Justin also realized for the first time that she was singing in English. _Hey boy, I see you looking, I know you're watching for you to make that move...._

Howie grabbed Justin's hand and tightened his grip. "Ready?" 

"Ready." 

They started to move, albeit a little awkwardly. "Keep your back straight," Howie instructed. "And lean forward a bit." 

Justin's brow furrowed. "Which is it? Back straight or lean forward?" 

"Both. Keep your back straight and lean into me, just a little." 

Justin tried to follow the instructions, watching his feet as he danced. He looked up and saw that Howie was looking straight at him. They made eye contact and Howie smiled at him. Then Howie's gaze ran down Justin's body and he started to giggle. 

"What?" Justin asked. 

More giggling, until Howie had to back away. "You're all about the hips, aren't you?" 

"What? I thought you were supposed to sway your hips." 

"Yeah, but not like that. Not...consciously. The hips happen on their own if you're doing the steps right." 

The song ended and there was a moment of silence. "You're doing well, though," Howie offered. "I think you can probably move to anything you want to move to." 

"Thanks." Justin waited, sneaking a sip of his wine in the meantime, and the same song started again. 

"Hey," Howie said apologetically, "I told you it's all I have." 

Justin bridged the gap in one easy stride and pulled Howie into him until their chests bumped. "Closed position," Justin announced, and they started to dance again. Justin managed to stay on the assigned steps for roughly a minute before he stepped back and swung under Howie's arm. 

"Look at him go," Howie laughed. 

"Isn't there a dip in this dance?" 

"There can be." Howie was still on the assigned steps, not seeming to mind that Justin was going freestyle, their hands still locked in place. 

"I'll dip you. You're smaller." Before Howie could protest, Justin pulled him in and locked his arm around Howie's waist. Howie fell back automatically, and Justin realized two seconds into it that it wasn't the best dance move after a couple of glasses of wine. Howie stumbled backward, pulling Justin with him until they landed in a heap on the floor. 

"Ow," Howie said, but he was laughing harder than ever now. 

"No kidding." Justin rubbed his head in mock pain. "I guess that's not a beginner move." 

"Not really." 

Justin was still laughing when he heard a sharp voice from the doorway. "What are you guys doing?" He looked up to see Nick standing there, arms crossed, leaning slightly against the wall. Justin sucked in his breath. 

"Justin's trying to kill me," Howie answered, scooting over until his back was against the nearest chair. 

Justin was still frozen, but realized it was his turn to say something. "That's not true," he said. "Just bodily harm. Not death." 

Nick's expression didn't change. "Justin, I have to talk to you for a second when you're done here. Okay?" 

"Okay." 

They watched the doorway until Nick was out of sight. "He's so intense sometimes," Howie said, climbing to his feet. 

"No kidding." Justin stood up too, grabbing the table for support. "Did you hurt anything?" 

"Nah." Howie found the stereo remote on the table and clicked off the music. "That's enough salsa lesson for today, I think." 

"Yeah." Justin watched Howie slide into the booth. He slid in across from him and made himself comfortable again. He drained his glass and looked at the bottom of it, moving it a little and watching the remnants of red wine shift and pool. 

"Do you want some more of that?" Howie asked, a glint of humor in his voice. 

"Okay," Justin chirped. 

This time Howie did laugh, sliding the bottle across the table and filling both cups. "It's good wine, isn't it? We picked it up in Niagara Falls. It's got grapes, a hint of cranberry...." 

Oh, Christ, Justin thought. More ingredients. Except this list was shorter, so there was no time to tune out. "It's damn good wine." He held his glass toward Howie and proposed a toast. "To exciting new friendships." 

It was the first remotely flirty thing he'd said all night, and Justin was hoping it would slip below the radar, but it didn't. Howie studied him curiously for a second, looking at Justin like he was trying to decipher a code. "Sure," Howie finally said, and they bumped their plastic cups together. 

And then it occurred to him. The common bond. He couldn't believe he'd overlooked it. They were both in a boy band. Screaming fans. Deceiving managers. Teen magazine pin ups. "So when did you join the Backstreet Boys?" Justin asked. Deep down, he knew they were off to the races now. 

"In the beginning. I started it. Well, me and Nick and AJ. Then we picked up Kevin and Brian along the way." 

"Really?" Justin asked, just a little impressed. For a second he almost tried not to show it, then he realized he was supposed to be showing it. 

"Yeah. Nick was only, like, 12 at the time." 

Now that was an interesting comment. Interesting that Howie would bring it up. Justin was 15 when he joined his group, and he knew all the shit he'd gone through. And for Nick to go through the same shit, only three years younger, was an idea that made Justin shudder. 

"So you've known Nick a long time," Justin said. 

"Well, since he was 12." 

Justin imagined a teenage Howie and a little, skinny Nick, practicing their harmonies, choosing songs, going into Lou Pearlman's office hoping for their big break. It occurred to him, for the first time, what a cold bastard Nick was for making this bet. Here, meet my friend. Break his heart. I dare you. Looking at Howie across the table, Justin felt a little bad for him. Felt bad that he was caught in the crossfire of two competitive egos. Felt bad that he chose his friends so unwisely. Felt bad that he was a pawn in a game being played for a necklace. 

But it was, he reminded himself, a hell of a necklace. His favorite necklace. A gold jTr pendant given to him by his musical hero. It had _diamonds_ on it, for crying out loud. The thought of it landing in Nick's hands made Justin's blood bubble like lava. 

"Are you close to Nick?" Justin asked. 

"Not really." Howie took a sip of his wine and seemed to consider it. "Well, sort of. I mean, I used to be. He's kind of going in a different direction now. It's like, you know how you have a friend you've known for a long time, and your friendship seems to go through phases? One month you're close, the next month you annoy each other, the next month it's like you have completely different lives. It's kind of like that. I mean, you must have someone like that in your group." 

Justin sloshed the wine around in his cup. "Joey." 

"Hey, I hear he's going to be a father." 

"That's the story." Justin couldn't help but grimace. 

Howie seemed to notice. "Hey, you'll survive it. I didn't want Kevin and Brian to get married, even though I knew they'd be happy, because when you spend so much time together for so long, it's almost like you're married to each other. Like you're five husbands. But you survive and get over it." 

It dawned on Justin then that Howie was doing all the talking. He hadn't expected that. But the key to Howie, he realized, wasn't to look at the guy's web site and hit on all the stereotypes, or the stuff you'd find in his Teen Beat bio. If you just sat down and talked to him, he'd talk back. 

"You're still young, Justin," Howie said. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and Justin definitely did not like that comment. 

"Why?" Justin asked, trying to ignore the sirens in his head. "How old are you?" 

"It says on my web site," Howie said and snickered into his wine. "No, I'm 27." 

Seven years older. Another detail Justin had missed. For the first time, he was starting to see where Nick was coming from. Howie wasn't avoiding a sex life out of Seventeen magazine virtues, or because he'd read it in the "How to Please Your Mama" handbook. He wasn't having sex because he'd thought about it and made an adult decision that he didn't want a sex life right now. Justin wondered if even Nick knew this. Then he clenched his teeth and fingered his pendant. 

"That's nice," Howie said. "That jTr thing." 

Justin brightened. "Thanks. Brian McKnight gave it to me." 

"It's beautiful." 

Yeah, Justin thought, and if you don't have sex with me, you'll be able to look at it every day. 

By the time they finished the bottle of wine, it was completely dark outside. Justin could hear the booms and the screams of the concert in the distance, and voices of people passing by waft through the open windows. He checked his watch when he noticed Howie yawn. 

"Well, I should go," Justin said. "Are you going down to watch some of the show tomorrow?" 

"I was going to. Hey, you're on tomorrow night." 

"Yep. You want to go down with me in the morning?" 

Howie paused, running his fingertip around the top of his empty cup. "Okay," he said slowly. 

"Walk me to the door?" 

Howie slid out of the booth and followed Justin to the door, standing on the bottom step when Justin hit the grass. 

"Thanks for the dance lesson," Justin said. "I liked Mia Cuerpo Hoo-Hah, or whatever it's called." 

"Any time." 

Justin took a deep breath and leaned in for the kill. He walked over and stood on his toes, pulling Howie down and planting a kiss on his lips. Howie kissed back for roughly three seconds and pulled away hard, his eyes wild. "What was that for?" he asked. 

"The dance lesson," Justin said simply. 

"Okay, you don't have to do that, all right?" 

Justin didn't know whether to cry or stomp around kicking the grass and screaming the word "fuck." He blinked a couple of times, smiling sweetly and trying not to lose his cool. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it." 

Howie took a deep breathe and scanned the area. "Goodnight, Justin." 

Justin tromped back to his bus, halfway there when he came across Nick walking in the other direction. Nick grabbed Justin's arm and pulled him around the side. "There you are." 

"Well, I'm sorry. I was working on our bet, remember?" 

Nick nodded distractedly. "Yeah. I need you to do me a favor." 

Justin shrunk back against the bus, acutely aware of Nick moving in closer to him, his arm resting next to Justin. He smelled like sex and danger and thousand other delicious scents rolled into one. "What?" 

"AJ likes Lance," Nick said simply. 

"So?" 

"So I don't want AJ to like Lance." Nick looked away, his eyes darting around the area. 

"Why not?" Justin asked. 

When Nick didn't answer, Justin smirked and poked Nick in the stomach. "Nick, do you like AJ?" 

"No," Nick said quickly. "Okay, maybe a little. Look, it just can't happen, okay?" 

"Okay. So what do you want me to do about it?" 

Nick's eyes softened and he smiled a little, running his hand down Justin's side and resting it on Justin's hip. "AJ is used to people who have fucked everything. Every girlfriend he's ever had has slept her way to the middle. Every guy he's been with has fucked him at the drop of a hat. He told me the lure of Lance is that Lance is..." 

"A virgin," Justin finished. 

"Well, a guy virgin, yeah. A virgin in the way that AJ cares about." 

"So you want me to..." Justin waved his hand in little circles, waiting for Nick to finish the sentence. When he didn't, Justin finished it. "...fuck Lance?" 

"Yes." 

Justin rested his head against the bus and laughed. "Nick, I could fuck Lance any time I wanted to." 

"I know. And you guys all fool around anyway, don't you? I mean, I know we do. At least we used to." 

Justin bit his lip. "Well, sort of. But why should I? What's in it for me?" 

Nick's smile widened and became sweeter, like he was a heartbeat away from licking his lips. "I can help you with your quest. I know the key to Howie's heart. I can give it to you." 

Justin studied Nick, trying to get some sort of reading whether or not he was being sincere. "How much of a key?" 

"Pretty much the only thing you need to know." Nick reached in and traced Justin's neck with his fingertip again. Justin grabbed Nick's wrist before he could get to the necklace. 

Justin rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine. I'll see what I can do." 

"Thank you." Nick pressed his body against Justin's and rewarded him with a deep, sated kiss. "I'll see you Sunday," Nick mumbled, and strolled off to his bus. 

Convincing Lance was about as hard as convincing one of his fans. All it took was getting Lance to admit that he had a crush on AJ, which took approximately two sentences of coaxing. Then all it took was the suggestion that AJ was very experienced, and that Lance might want a primer before attempting to rock his world. 

By 1 a.m. they were naked in Justin's bunk, Lance sprawled between his legs. "Lick the spot just under the head," Justin whispered, and drew in a harsh breath when Lance flickered it with his tongue. Justin instructed him on how to give a blow job, a hand job and be a proper bottom. When Lance kissed him sweetly and thanked him, Justin rolled on his stomach and put the pillow over his head. 

  



	4. Saturday

Justin woke up early the next morning to do a little more research. He dragged Lance out of bed to set up the Internet for him and hit some more fan sites. Considering who Howie was, Justin realized that there weren't that many. Not as many as there were for him, anyway. Not by a long shot. 

He planned his wardrobe carefully again, this time going with something blue to show off his eyes. He showed up at the bus to find Nick at the table by himself, eating cereal. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Nick asked, so sleepy that it had to be sincere. 

"Looking for Howie. Is he around?" 

"He's in the shower." Nick lifted another spoonful of cereal to his mouth and half the milk didn't make it there. 

Justin glanced around the bus, making sure that no one was around, and slid in across from Nick. "I believe you have some information for me." 

Nick dropped the spoon and rubbed his eyes. "You did it?" 

"I did it." 

"Okay." Nick nodded at the bowl, eyes half closed. "You like to volunteer?" 

"I don't know. Why?" 

Nick leaned out of the booth and grabbed a purple flier off the counter, smacking it down in front of Justin. "Volunteer." 

Justin looked down at the flier. "Lupus Day," he read. 

"Yeah. It's a concert they put on every year in Orlando." Nick sighed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands again. "Either that or volunteer to sing on his sister's album." 

Justin folded the flier in half. "Thanks so much. I could have figured that out for myself." 

Nick smirked into his bowl. "No, you couldn't." 

Justin heard the bathroom door open and folded the flier two more times, shoving it in his pocket just as Howie emerged. His hair was tied back again and this time he was in a white T-shirt and jeans. Pretty basic considering Justin had seen a web site picture of him in a see-through blouse. 

"Hey," Howie said. "Ready to go?" 

Nick perked up ever so slightly. "You guys going to watch the show?" 

"Yep," Justin said, shooting Nick a bright smile before they left. 

They walked quietly for a minute, Justin trying to think of something they could talk about. It shouldn't have been too hard after last night. In fact, there were a thousand topics in his head. But Howie was biting his fingernails and walking a few inches farther away from Justin than he should have been. 

"About last night..." Howie started. 

"What about it?" 

Howie glanced sideways at him, like that wasn't what he expected Justin to say. "I'm sorry about it," he finally said. 

"I'm not." 

Howie exhaled loudly. "Oookay." 

"I like you," Justin said. It had gone from there being nothing there to there being _something_ there, whatever it was. There was no way Justin was backing off now. 

"Like me? You don't even know me." 

"Yes I do, Howard Dwaine Dorough," Justin replied. "Born August 22, 1973. Your musical influences include Michael Jackson and Jon Secada. Your favorite color is purple. You went to Valencia Community College and sang in the choir with Chris. You have three sisters and a brother. Want me to keep going?" 

Howie kept walking, facing forward, still chewing at his fingernails. "I see you've done your research." 

"It wasn't hard. The topic interests me." 

Justin knew it was a cheesy line, but he didn't expect Howie to stop dead in his tracks and face him. Howie's eyes were huge and the color of black coffee, filled with what seemed like 800 different emotions, but the outstanding one seemed to be skepticism. "Are you playing me?" Howie asked. 

Justin didn't even flinch. "No. Why would I be playing you?" 

"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out." 

Justin threw up his hands. "Why does there have to be something to figure out? Maybe I just like you." 

Howie's eyes narrowed. "Because you've never given a shit about me until yesterday." 

"You don't know that. You have no way of knowing that." Justin turned and took a couple of steps toward the busses. "Look, you go watch the show. I'll get out of your hair." 

He headed back up the slope, feeling Howie's eyes on him. He wondered how far Howie would let him walk. If his instincts were right, it wouldn't be far. 

He walked more feet than he thought he would, but eventually felt a hand on his arm and stopped. "Look," Howie said, "I'm sorry. It's just that I've...heard stuff about you." 

"Like what?" 

Howie looked back at the security gates, chewing his bottom lip. "Just that you're a player, and that you've never loved anyone. Stuff like that." 

"Who told you that?" 

Howie shrugged. "Nobody." 

"Oh, come on. That's not fair. Who's nobody?" 

"Nobody. Really." 

"I've been in love. Just not with anyone who could see past my image." 

Howie kept chewing his lip, but he seemed to accept that. "Let's just go watch the show. If you still want to." 

They headed down the grassy slope again, ending up at the backstage area. The stage was rather open, so they found a spot on a big unplugged amp and sat down on it. It was inside the stage area enough to leave them in half darkness, but far enough not to get in anyone's way. Justin felt like an owl perched up there. Like he could see everyone but no one could see him. 

Howie crossed his legs and twisted a strand of hair around his fingers, bopping a little to the music. It was early in the day, so the singer was fairly unknown. Justin had never heard of her. 

"At least O-Town's not here," Justin said. 

"I don't know," Howie said, twisting his hair around his index finger. "That wouldn't have bothered me so much." 

"Are you kidding? They're a bunch of little shits." 

Howie stayed focused on the stage. "They're just more of Lou's victims, y'know? You can't blame them. He's promised them everything." 

"Right," Justin spat. "The only question is which one of them he decides to fuck." 

Howie's gaze shifted ever so slowly and focused on Justin, staying there for so long that Justin shifted uncomfortably. "You too?" he asked. 

"Me too what?" He pretended he didn't know what Howie was talking about. And maybe he didn't, but he wasn't about to ask him to clarify. 

"Look at us," Howie said, focusing on the stage again. "All of us. You. Me. AJ. Nick. Especially Nick." 

"What about Nick?" 

"He's damaged," Howie said thoughtfully, still tugging at a strand of hair. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Have you ever seen that movie? It's got...the same woman who was in The English Patient. I forget her name." 

"Juliette Binoche?" Justin tried. 

"Yeah. That's it, I think. Anyway, it's this story about a father who sleeps with his son's fiancee, and it's also a book. I haven't seen the movie but I've read the book. And in the book there's this line that goes 'Damaged people are dangerous, because they know they can survive, and they expect that others will as well.'" 

Justin leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "So you think Nick is dangerous?" 

"Of course he is," Howie replied, like it was a simple fact that he'd known all along. 

"You think I'm dangerous, too?" 

Howie picked at the skin around his fingernails, concentrating hard on his hands. "Yeah, I do." 

Justin unfolded his legs, ready to jump off the amp. "Maybe I'll just go, then." 

Howie's hand darted out and grabbed Justin's arm. "No. Don't. I just did it again. I'm sorry." 

Justin settled back again, crossing his legs so his position matched Howie's. "Why do you think we're 'damaged?'" 

Howie shrugged at his hands. "Because we learned to use our sexuality at way too young of an age. An age when we weren't supposed to be sexual, or at least not in front of millions of people. Putting you in videos where you roll around on a bed, and putting Nick on live radio shows where people ask about his sexual fantasies. Video directors telling Nick to keep licking his lips when he's, like, 15 years old. Because, you know, you have sexual feelings at that age, but they're supposed to be something that you go through in your own bedroom, or with normal girlfriends. Not exploited on MTV. God, you know, it just _kills_ me to think about it. It kills me." 

Justin knew he had just hit at the core of why Howie wasn't having sex, and why Nick was having so much of it. He sat quietly, afraid to say anything. He just watched Howie talk, the side profile of his lips moving, his hand occasionally punctuating his sentences. Justin reached out timidly and grabbed one of them, holding it in his own, and was so surprised when Howie smiled at him that he almost fell off the amp. 

Justin smirked. "What if someone sees us over here holding hands?" 

Howie smiled at his feet. "No one can see us over here. We're kind of hidden in the corner." 

"Mmm. Okay. I'm gonna try to kiss you again." 

Howie didn't look up. Didn't move. But he didn't pull away, either. Justin leaned over and planted a small kiss on Howie's exposed neck. "There," he said. "I kissed you." 

"Yes, you did." 

Justin lifted Howie's hand and kissed his knuckles. "There. I just kissed you again." 

Howie was still smiling. "You're out of control." 

Justin put his hand under Howie's chin and nudged him sideways, then kissed him for real. His tongue slipped into Howie's mouth, his hand resting on the back of Howie's neck. He never got tired of that thrill of kissing someone for the first time. And just when he thought he'd pull away, Howie grabbed his arms and pulled him closer. They sat there for a few minutes, making out on top of the amplifier, until Howie pulled away and sighed. "We shouldn't do that out here." 

"I know," Justin said. "Want to go do it somewhere else?" 

Howie squinted like he was considering it. A few long seconds passed before he agreed. 

They headed back across the grass, meeting one of Justin's security guys, Lonnie, near the gates. "There you are," Lonnie said gruffly. "I don't want you going anywhere this weekend without one of us. Not even to take a piss." 

Justin rolled his eyes. "It's just some weirdo." 

"Even so, don't even breathe without letting one of us know about it, okay?" 

"Okay. I'm going to hang out on Howie's bus now. Cool?" 

"What was that all about?" Howie asked as they climbed the slope. 

Justin sighed. "I have my very own stalker. Like, a real one. One who shits in his Corn Flakes and everything." 

He meant for it to be funny, but Howie's brow furrowed. "You should do what they say," Howie said. "I mean, they're just looking out for you." 

They stepped on Howie's bus, which was empty again. "Is there ever anyone here?" 

"Well, Nick was last night, for whatever reason. I guess he was bored with his bus. Kevin and Brian's wives are around, so they take off with them whenever they get the chance." 

Justin nodded in appreciation. "Good deal." 

Howie edged toward the stereo. "Want to salsa again?" 

"No. Let me pick something." He nudged past Howie and bent over, sifting through the stack of CD's next to the stereo. Mood music, he thought, tapping his fingers on his leg. Finally he picked one and put it in, a slow, breathy song filling the bus. 

Howie leaned back on the table. "What's this?" 

"Sheryl Crow." Justin held up the CD to demonstrate. 

"Must be one of Kevin's." 

Justin swaggered across the bus in time to the music, extending his hand. "Okay, maybe you can salsa better than me, but if there's one thing I know how to do, it's slow dance." 

Howie stared at Justin's hand for a moment, obviously in heavy internal debate. Finally he took it and stepped in, still keeping a safe distance between himself and Justin. 

_Even if it's a lie, say it will be all right, and I will believe...._

"I've never heard this song before," Howie said as they started to sway. "I don't think I've listened to this whole thing. I've just heard bits and pieces when Kevin's played it." 

Justin tightened his grip a little but didn't pull him closer. Howie was obviously a little nervous with the intimacy of the situation, and he kept babbling about Sheryl Crow. 

"Did you know she used to be a back up singer for Michael Jackson?" Howie asked. "I think I read that somewhere." 

"Mmm. Yeah," Justin mumbled, finally drawing Howie closer. He danced as long as Howie let him. They danced until the song looped and played again. Justin moved his hands from a closed position to an open one, running his palms across Howie's sharp shoulder blades, his head dropped until his face was close enough to Howie's head that he could smell his shampoo. It smelled like vanilla, or something equally sweet. The song looped yet again, and Howie still hadn't protested. Justin ran his hand down Howie's back, stopping briefly at the waist of Howie's jeans before moving down farther. Howie's pants were fairly loose-fitting, and Justin's hand slid slowly in until he felt Howie's boxers against his fingertips. 

Howie tensed and pushed away. "Is that what you want?" 

Justin blinked. "Huh?" 

Howie's eyes were sharp now, brimming with either frustration or impatience or anger. Justin couldn't tell which. "Are you here to fuck me?" 

Justin opened his mouth to speak but Howie cut him off. "You can be honest," Howie said. "Because if that's what you want, let's not go through the rest of it." 

"I just...Yeah, but that's not all I...." 

"Well, come on, then." Howie stode down the hallway, pausing to make sure Justin was following him, and stopped at his bunk. He slipped off his shirt and tossed it to Justin. "Let's go." 

Justin caught the shirt and bunched it in his hands. "What are you doing?" 

"I just mean, if this is going to be one of those primitive, two-men-fucking things, you don't have to dance with me. I'm not a teenage girl." Howie flipped off one of his shoes and it landed under the bunk. 

Justin stood wide-eyed. Part of him couldn't believe what he was seeing. Howie kicked off his other shoe and it landed near the first one. Howie turned and flopped down on his bunk, looking up expectantly. 

"Um...I think...." Justin handed the shirt back. "I think I'm just gonna, um, go." He turned and stumbled to the door, his vision wavering a little, and took a deep breath when he got outside. Howie didn't come after him. 

He passed Nick on the way back to his bus. "Did you use your ace?" Nick asked. 

"Go straight to hell, Carter," Justin replied, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he meant it. 

  


 


	5. Saturday night

Auto-pilot. There was no other way to describe Justin's performance. But he'd always been so vivid and full of energy that auto-pilot to him was like normal for everyone else, so no one seemed to realize it. 

He noticed the people backstage. He saw AJ, standing behind the curtain with someone from Incubus. And sometime during his beat box segment (shortened, because they were only on-stage for an hour and a bit), the curtain ruffled and he thought he might have seen Howie, peering out with those enormous, disorienting eyes. Justin ignored it, because if there was ever a time during his performance that he could afford to be thrown off, it wasn't now. And since that afternoon, when Howie had ceremoniously stripped half naked and invited Justin to fuck him, every thought he had about Howie threw him for a loop. The guy was so confusing. Complex. Like a mixture of arrogance and humility, kindness and cruelty, masculinity and asexuality. Justin wondered if Howie had always been like that, or if he was just that way with him. He wondered if Howie was that guarded with everyone or if something inside him told him not to trust Justin. And if he was that guarded with everyone, why? Either way, Justin wanted to make it right, not just for the bet, but for himself. Because he had never, ever had someone react to him that way, and it was so unsettling that Justin was thankful for the distraction of performing. 

They did two encores. "Bye Bye Bye" came first, complete with the monk outfits. They ended with "More Than a Feeling," which they hadn't sung in ages, but Lance had suddenly begged them to change the set list so they could slip it into the mix. There were half hearted protests at first, and JC said, "We should stick with what we've got. Whenever we try to change things, we fuck up." But it was so rare that Lance insisted on anything that everyone eventually agreed. And it was the last song Justin wanted to be singing. It killed his buzz. Ended the show on a low note. Lance, the one who had wanted to sing it, kept fucking up and clashing with the rest of the group. And something about the song was melancholy. Justin couldn't put his finger on it, exactly. It was supposed to be a happy song, but standing up there, watching tiny lighter flames flicker across the crowd, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach and stayed there. 

He breezed through the meet-and-greet. Kept walking when the rest of the guys stopped to crack open a bottle of champagne with the crew. Lonnie caught up with him somewhere on the grassy slope. "Where are you going, Justin?" 

"Someone's bus," Justin mumbled, still facing forward. "Howie Dorough." 

Lonnie trotted until he fell in step with Justin. "I'll walk you there." 

"You don't have to. I'm not going to die between here and there." 

"Well, it's my job to make sure." 

Lonnie followed him all the way to the open door, then stepped on and poked his head inside. He descended the steps backward and moved out of the way. "Go ahead." 

Justin rolled his eyes and climbed the steps slowly, a little unsure of what he was going to see. He half expected to get yelled at, although Howie didn't seem the type to yell. He reached the top to find Howie coming down the hall. He was wearing his usual jeans and a T-shirt and no socks. 

"Hey," Howie said. "I thought it might be you. Your security guy just stuck his head in here." 

"Yeah. Stalker stuff." Justin leaned against the wall, close to the door in case he was going to get booted out. 

"I'm sorry," Howie said quickly. "I was retarded today. I'm so embarrassed." 

"No. I was like...pawing at you. I shouldn't have been." 

"No! It's cool. I mean...it was me. It was all me. I don't know why I did that." 

Justin took a deep breath. Howie shifted his weight a little, like he wasn't sure to do with his body. Justin could relate. Howie took a step back and sat at the table, pulling his leg to his chest and resting his chin on his knee. "I get all weird with you," Howie said quietly, staring at the floor. "I don't know why." 

"So do I." Justin realized he was only half lying. Maybe it was because his pendant was at stake. Maybe it was because Nick was hanging over them like a ghost, even in his absence as much a part of this as anyone. 

There was a long silence. Justin inched closer to the table, sliding in across from Howie. It was weird just being that close to him now, like electricity was crackling around them, or lightning striking just inches from their heads. 

"Justin," Howie said slowly. "I've been through a lot of shit." 

Justin tugged at one of his curls. "I know." 

"You know, I had a girlfriend for a long time break up with me out of the blue. All the shit that happens to you in this business. And you kind of get through it by not needing anybody. Like, the less you need, the less people can take away from you." 

Justin's eyes stayed focused on the counter. There was a lupus flier there. Purple. "Yeah, I know what you mean." 

"And we're leaving at 4 o'clock Monday morning. And I won't see you for ages. And I guess I don't need..." Howie took a deep breath, tugging at a loose thread on the cuff of his jeans. "Something else to miss. You know?" 

"Yeah. But you don't have to miss me. We can keep in touch. If you want. I don't want to have to leave and never talk to you again. Cuz I like you, you know." 

Howie glanced at him with large, untrusting eyes. 

"I do," Justin said, a little firmer this time. "People meet like this all the time. Meet and keep in touch and see each other again, and you know, pick up where they left off." 

Howie sighed and shook his head. "This is crazy." 

"What's crazy?" 

"You. Justin Timberlake. Sitting here saying this to me. I just...I don't know where this all came from." 

"Who cares where it came from? It's here." Justin stood up, feeling the tired muscles in his legs pop and stretch. He inched toward the stereo. "Want to dance?" 

Howie shrugged weakly. "Why not?" 

Justin leaned in and squinted at the CD. "You still have Sheryl Crow in here. Want to do her again?" 

"Sure." 

Justin read the back of the CD cover and started the first song. It was another slow song. He avoided the one from that afternoon, in case it was like Pavlov's bell and triggered Howie to freak out again. He stood up and met Howie in the middle, pulling him into a hug. And just when Justin thought they might start swaying to the beat, Howie tightened his grip and they hugged harder. It was strange and exhilarating, like the hug was a thousand times more intimate than his actual goal. Justin couldn't put his finger on why. 

He felt Howie's breath against his shoulder. Justin ran his fingers through the long, soft strands of hair, then ran his hand down Howie's back. It almost seemed like he could feel the thump of a heartbeat, and couldn't figure out if it was Howie's or his own or both. Howie moved his head back and pulled Justin's head closer, and they kissed. For real this time. A soft but searching kiss, with pliant yet probing tongues. Just the kiss and the proximity made Justin's cock harden. If he didn't accomplish his goal tonight, he figured he might nudge Howie out of the spot of being the festival's most frequent masturbator. 

"I don't want to dance," Howie whispered before their mouths rejoined. 

"What do you want to do, then?" Justin mumbled. 

"Take a wild guess." 

And Jesus Christ, that was pretty much an invitation. It was only when Justin was shocked to hear it that he realized that until this point, he wasn't truly sure if he was going to win or not. He figured he probably would, because he was better than Nick Carter, but it hadn't been an easy ride. 

But there wasn't even any time to think about winning or losing or right or wrong, because he was walking backward toward the bunks with Howie attached to him. He stopped when Howie did and knew Howie's bunk was on the bottom left. They fell back into it, Howie landing lightly on top of him. Justin felt something poke into his back and heard a squeak. 

"What the..." 

"Oh." Howie reached behind Justin and pulled out a rubber duck. He held it up and smiled at it. "Long story." 

"Fan present?" 

"Yeah." 

Howie tossed the duck in the bunk across the aisle and it landed with a squeak. He rested his head on Justin's chest and his body shook a little, and Justin realized he was giggling. Justin grabbed Howie's arms and rolled him over so Justin was sprawled out on top of him. "What are you laughing at?" 

"Just...it's not a very sexy start to things." 

"How do you know?" Justin asked, planting little kisses along Howie's jaw. "Maybe I like rubber ducks." 

"Would you like me to go get it?" 

"No thanks," Justin said, but he was giggling too. It was a good diversion, because he wasn't sure how to approach this. Should he be kind and gentle or hot and groping? He was so close now that he hated the thought of screwing up. 

Howie tucked his fingers under the tail of Justin's shirt and pulled, tugging it over Justin's head and throwing it at the foot of the bunk. Then he ran his hands over Justin's chest, dark fingers moving over pale skin, like vanilla and chocolate. They fumbled with buttons and zippers, squirming and moving hips for easier access, until they were fully undressed, and Justin wanted to put on the performance of a lifetime. Then Justin kissed slowly downward, sucking and savoring nipples, hands kneading and massaging. He looked up and saw Howie's head tilted back on the pillow, his eyes closed and his mouth open, his chest heaving from hard gasps. 

"Keep going," Howie breathed. 

So he did, and Justin pulled everything out of his bag of tricks. Every good place to suck and lick and probe. He flickered his tongue across the underside of the head and Howie whimpered a little, the sound small and tight and resounding in Justin's brain. It wasn't long before Howie was grabbing at his shoulders, twisting his body until Justin figured out that Howie wanted him to come back up again. So Justin climbed up Howie's body and was met with a deep, languorous kiss. 

Howie put his hands on Justin's shoulders and pushed him onto his back, kissing and sucking his way down Justin's body like he was starved for it. It had been a long time since anyone had attacked Justin with that kind of enthusiasm, and he couldn't help but stretch and purr like a cat. Then Howie positioned himself between Justin's legs and... 

"Oh God," Justin groaned. Flickering licks followed by long wet laps, with just the right amount of tightness and saliva. Howie teased his cock for what seemed like long minutes before he swiped his tongue along the head and then took the whole throbbing, burning thing into his mouth. All the way to the back of his throat. God love the boy. 

Justin felt like he was melting into the sheets, and it seemed like the tables had turned, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just didn't ever want it to stop, the hungry licking and sucking, like Howie was worshipping him, trying to pull and tug and push him toward orgasm. "Jesus," Justin moaned. "You're good at this." 

"Thank you." 

He raised his hips, his fingers tangling in Howie's hair, until he felt his body climb toward orgasm. "Stop," he breathed. "Just stop." 

Howie moved back up until they were face to face, his eyes huge and gleaming, and Justin just wanted to fuck the hell out of him. But he still wasn't sure he could. Better to err on the side of caution than turn into a wild animal, so he gulped back the urge and smiled. "I need my jacket." 

Howie rolled off him and stretched. Justin climbed out and padded into the kitchen area, flicking off the light so one of the roadies wouldn't look in the bus and get a show. He grabbed his jacket off the table and returned, fishing out the condoms and the lube that Lance had actually bought him earlier that day so they could fuck some more. 

"You came prepared," Howie said. 

Justin tensed. "Sorry. I just thought maybe...just cuz...." 

Howie smiled. "It's okay, Justin. I kind of figured you were sexually active." 

Justin breathed a sigh of relief and lowered himself onto the sheets again, positioning his mouth next to Howie's ear. "Roll on your stomach," he whispered. 

Howie obeyed, and Justin climbed between his legs, carefully pulling Howie's hair away and planting a damp kiss on his neck. He ran his hands along Howie's arms, feeling the muscles bunch under the warm skin. His tongue pressed against Howie's spine, giving it long, fat licks, his hands trying to unscrew the lid on the lube but trying to be subtle about it. It finally gave and he applied the most liberal dose he'd ever used on anyone and worked in a finger. 

"You're so tight," Justin said, brushing his lips along Howie's shoulder blade. 

"I know," Howie replied, but it came out strained and breathy. 

He worked it for a moment, feeling Howie's body move and respond, and used his other hand to reach for the condom and open the wrapper with his teeth. He took his hand away long enough to roll it on, still planting little kisses along Howie's back. Then he used his knees to spread Howie's legs a little farther and lay out on top of him, his lips moving against Howie's ear. 

"Can I do this?" he said quietly. 

Howie nodded and smiled a little against the pillow. "Yeah." 

He pushed into him easily, timidly. Howie responded almost immediately, sucking in a long breath and letting out a slow, shaky one. "Okay?" Justin asked. 

"Oh yeah." 

Justin started a slow, careful rhythm, watching Howie intently, waiting for the first sign of pain or discomfort. Howie gasped and moved back against him, encouraging him. And then realization hit. 

"You've done this before," Justin said. 

"Of course," Howie breathed. "Just keep going." 

There went the virgin theory. He wondered if Nick knew. Or had Nick said Howie was a virgin? Maybe not. But Justin didn't really care anymore, because at that moment, it brought a wave of relief, and Justin almost laughed. He gripped Howie's shoulder. "Roll over." 

Howie rolled over and wrapped his legs around Justin's hips, bending perfectly when Justin entered him again and began a more intense rhythm this time, faster and just a little harder. Howie groaned, moving his hands along Justin's chest and then reaching around to drag his nails across Justin's back. Justin squeezed his eyes closed and slowed his pace, thinking he might come right then. "God." 

"Yeah," Howie agreed, like he was looking at a hallucination that only the two of them could see. 

Justin went slowly for what seemed like a safe time, until Howie said, "Keep going. I can come like this." 

Justin's eyes blinked open. "Huh?" 

"Keep going." 

God, Justin thought. It might have been two presidential terms since Howie had been laid, but he _so_ was not a virgin. And again he wondered how Nick could not know that. But just thinking of Nick seemed to kill the buzz a little, so he pushed the thought from his mind and quickened his pace. 

"I want to make you come," Justin panted. "I want to make you come harder than you've ever come in your life. I want to give you everything." 

He knew he was babbling. He wasn't even sure where it was coming from. But it fit the mood. Howie mumbled back in encouragement, and let out a harsh breath when Justin clutched Howie's hips and raised them a little, giving him a new, better angle. And leaning back a little like that, he watched it all happen - his unflinching rhythm, the way Howie's eyes squeezed closed and his jaw twitched, the way Howie's hands reached back and gripped the pillow so hard that his knuckles went white. Howie's back arched, and he said "God!" louder than Justin had ever heard him say anything, and he dissolved into a mass of trembles. 

Justin lowered himself until their sweaty stomachs touched and he could nip at Howie's neck. His own orgasm was waiting in the wings, just a few thrusts away from coming on full force. He opened his eyes to find Howie watching him, his eyes like huge pools of melted chocolate. Justin felt like he could fall into them. 

He looked away, trying to ignore them, but they were like the eyes of a dark and slightly haunting portrait. No matter which way he turned his head, they were still fixed on him. At the start of his orgasm, when he'd lost all reason, he covered them with his hand. Howie didn't protest, just ran his fingers along Justin's sweat-slicked back as Justin came. 

He waited for the shudders to subside and then dropped his head on Howie's chest, trying to catch his breath. "Fuck," he panted. 

"No kidding." 

Justin moved his head a little, still trying to come down. "You rocked my world." 

"No way. You rocked mine." 

"No," Justin said. "You rocked mine. I insist." And that brought more giggles. 

Howie ran his fingers absently through Justin's hair. "Why did you say 'you've done this before?'" 

"Because I just...I thought you hadn't." 

"No kidding. You used to so much lube I thought you were gonna go for my appendix." 

Justin was laughing too hard to be offended. Instead he sighed and rolled off, stretching out on his back. He looked over to see Howie studying him. "You covered my eyes," Howie said. "That was kinky." 

"Yeah." Justin was thankful when he realized he wouldn't have to explain himself any more than that. "Hang on. I gotta get rid of this." 

He crawled across Howie and padded naked to the bathroom, keeping the light off as he threw away the condom. Then he came back and crawled in the bunk again. "I like that better than salsa dancing." 

Howie rolled on his side, tucking his arm under the pillow and pulling the sheet up to his waist. "There's a lot more to salsa dancing than that. But it gets a lot more complicated, and I don't even remember most of it." 

"Maybe you can teach me more next time I see you." 

Justin closed his eyes, wishing he could just drift off to sleep there. Maybe he would if Howie invited him to stay. It would be so easy to just fall into a dream world and not wake until the sun rose again. 

"Nick said you were a virgin," Justin said suddenly. Even as it came out he wondered why he was saying it. 

"Nick doesn't need to know who I sleep with. I like it better when he doesn't know. And besides, it has been a long time. Like, at least a year." 

Justin bolted upright when he heard a bang at the front of the bus. It was followed by shuffling footsteps. Howie sat up too. "Damn. That's Kevin and Brian." They almost knocked heads as they scrambled for their clothes. 

Justin lay back and slid into his pants. "Will they be pissed that I'm here?" 

"Pissed at me, maybe. Not you." Howie reached into the leg of his jeans and tugged it right side out again. "Kevin'll be like 'thar's a duck in mah bed.'" 

"Don't make me laugh. I'm trying to get the buttons right." 

The quiet voices on the other side of the curtain got closer. Justin tugged his shirt back into place and pulled Howie down, giving him a long, enthusiastic kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Yeah?" Howie said. 

"I will. I will _so_ see you tomorrow." 

He made sure Howie was decent before he pulled back the curtain and climbed out, fully aware that there was no way to make the situation look like anything other than what it was. Kevin and Brian were standing in the kitchen, Kevin putting dishes in the little sink. They both stopped and turned in unison. 

"Hi," Justin said cheerfully, waving a little as he stepped carefully between them. What he really wanted to say was "Sorry, Brian. I was just having un-Christian gay sex on your bus." But he didn't want to make the situation any worse for Howie than it already was. 

He strolled back through the busses, whistling "I Want You Back," the grass a little damp under his feet. He rounded the corner to find Nick sitting outside, calmly smoking a joint on the overturned crate that AJ and Lance had found. 

"Nick Carter," Justin sang. "How funny that you should be here. I was just thinking about how you'll be screaming my name tomorrow." 

Nick exhaled a smoke ring, unaffected eyes half closed. "You're clever," Nick said. He fished in his pocket and pulled out something small and black, and it wasn't until he tossed it to Justin that Justin realized it was a cell phone. "I need you to make a call for me." 

Justin sighed and sat down on the crate next to Nick. "I'd love to, Nick, but I'm a little worn out to do favors for you tonight." 

"Oh, it's not about me. It's for you." 

Justin frowned at the phone, flipping it open. The panel glowed green in the darkness. "It's 2 a.m." 

"Just do it. Hit one. I've got the number on speed dial." 

Justin stared at the phone. "But...who is it?" 

"You'll find out." 

Justin hit "one" and put the phone to his ear, listening to the line click. Then there was a quiet ring. "It's ringing," Justin said. 

"Good," Nick said slowly, like he was talking to an eight year old. "Then talk into it." 

"Who the fuck am I calling?" 

Justin barely finished his sentence before he heard a man's voice on the other line. He gulped. "Um...hi. This is Justin Timberlake." 

"Oh yeah. Justin," the man said. "I heard some rumors about you and Nick told me you'd be willing to tell me if they're true or not." 

Justin looked over at Nick, who took another calm toke and exhaled the smoke in a long stream. "Like what?" Justin asked. 

"He told me you were gay." 

Justin sat up straight and pulled the phone away from his ear, looking wildly at the green panel. "Court, Frank." He hit the power button and chucked the phone at Nick, who picked it easily out of the air. 

"Frank Court? The Bug? You made me call the fucking paparazzi? What the fuck are you doing?" 

Nick shrugged easily, eyes still fixed on some spot off in the distance. "I'm just trying to make a point." 

"And what fucking point would that be?" Justin snapped. "What fucking point could you possibly be making by telling a tabloid shithead that I'm into guys?" 

Nick shook his head and Justin wanted to strangle him. "Justin, you are so slow." 

"Slow? What the hell does that mean? What do you mean, I'm slow?" 

Nick threw the joint on the ground and crushed it with his foot. "The point I'm trying to make, Justin, is that you can't have a boyfriend." 

"Who says I want one?" 

Nick turned, moving at twice the speed he had been, and his eyes flared. "Give me a break. Look at you. You're pathetic. You know you were actually _whistling_ when you came around the corner? Ever since yesterday you've been like a little kid. First with the hanging around dancing on the bus and giggling like a fool when I walked in. And then the two of you down by the stage, up in your corner like he was your prom date. You were just supposed to fuck him, Justin. Not date him." 

"So?" 

"So," Nick said simply, "what's going to happen when people find out about this? Your fans? Your management? You'll be ruined. Completely ruined. And so will nine other people along with you. Or hadn't you thought about them?" 

Justin was speechless. The truth was that he hadn't really thought about that. He tried to tell himself that Nick didn't have a point. Nick rarely had a point. 

Oh, who was he kidding? Nick _always_ had a point. 

"They don't have to find out," Justin said. "There's no reason why anyone has to know." 

Nick opened his cell phone, exposing the glowing green panel again, rubbing his thumb lightly along the buttons. "No, I suppose you're right." 

Justin eyed him cautiously. "Nick, just come out with it." 

Nick snapped the phone closed and slipped it back in his pocket. "You're not taking me down with you, lover boy. Just remember that." He stood, stretching his long legs, and faced Justin. "It's easy to blow someone off, Justin," he said calmly. "You've been doing it for years. Just make the cut quick and clean and it'll eventually heal." 

Justin stared after him as Nick disappeared into the darkness. 

  



	6. Sunday

Justin couldn't remember a time when he'd been so damn nervous. He'd played Madison Square Garden in front of a few thousand people plus a TV crew. He'd danced around like an idiot at the MTV Awards. And after performing for so long, nothing fazed him. He'd trip on stage and get up and make a joke about it. He'd say something stupid in an interview and laugh it off. Everything could be handled. Every problem had a solution. 

But standing outside Howie's bus, his fingertips dug into his sweaty palms, and his heart thumped in his throat, and he realized he was actually shaking. He took a step closer and backed away again, and thought the same thing that had turned over in his mind for the past half hour: why was this so fucking hard? 

He broke up with Britney and went clubbing two hours later. He fought with Joey and then unceremoniously sat in Joey's chair to watch TV, knowing full well Joey wanted to sit down. And Nick was right. This was like pulling off a Band Aid. It hurt less if you did it quickly. A brief sting rather than a slow, drawn-out pain. 

It wasn't like Howie would yell at him. He knew now what he'd suspected before - Howie didn't yell at anyone. He didn't throw his fists around or call people names. Maybe that was what scared Justin the most. The fact that Howie wouldn't retaliate. He'd just sit there calmly, with those trippy eyes, and take whatever Justin gave him. Howie should have realized by then that people liked to get reactions. That they would say whatever hurt the most so they could produce one. 

Brian and Kevin were gone again, and Justin wondered briefly how much time Howie spent alone on this bus. Maybe it hurt to see them leave, or maybe that was why he rode it. Time alone was infrequent in Justin's life, and it must have been the same in Howie's. 

He took the steps slowly, listening to his shoes on the ridged metal. He reached the top to find Howie eating a bowl of cereal. It looked like Shreddies. Justin hated Shreddies. And there, yet another thing they did not have in common. They didn't have anything in common. This was just a stupid bet that had already gone too far. 

"Hey," Howie said, motioning to the bowl with his spoon. "You want some?" 

"No. I hate Shreddies." 

Howie shrugged and ate another spoonful, not saying anything. As if he expected Justin to just sit down and start a conversation. As if Justin had the time or the inclination to sit around on Howie's bus all day. 

Justin took a deep breath. "Last night was a mistake." 

Justin had to give him credit. Howie seemed to immediately realize the importance of the conversation. He put down his spoon and looked up slowly. "Was it?" 

"Yes," Justin said, and followed it with another deep breath. "I'm actually in love with someone else. You were just something to do while I was here. I'm sorry." 

And why the hell did he say something so cruel? Maybe he *did* want a reaction. Something to show that Howie actually gave a shit, and that he wouldn't gulp this down and chalk it up to one more thing he didn't need. 

Justin knew it stung. He could see it flash across Howie's face - that look that can only be produced by words like "fat" or "ugly" or "faggot." 

He could see Howie formulating his response, calculating his next move. Howie was frozen in place, elbow on the table, half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of him. Finally Howie squinted. "What?" 

"I don't like you," Justin said. "I've never liked you. I was dishonest with you and I shouldn't have been. I'm sorry." 

The look on Howie's face deepened, and Justin could see that this was hard. In the darkest parts of Justin's mind, Justin wanted to *hear* that this was hard. He wanted to see it in more than just the flicker of a facial expression. 

Howie brought his hand to his mouth, like he was trying to formulate a word. He narrowed his eyes, and Justin knew he was being studied. Scrutinized. "Why are you telling me this?" 

"Because you need to know. Because I told you we were going to keep in touch, and we're not. I don't like you. I'm sorry." 

Another long pause. More scrutiny. Justin turned sideways to face the back aisle. He had to. He couldn't stand feeling Howie's eyes on him. Couldn't stomach it. 

"I don't even...believe you," Howie said slowly. 

Justin felt a bolt of irrational anger spread through him. "Why not? What's not to believe? I don't like you. That's not so unreal." 

"No, but look at you. You can't even look at me. You can barely stand there." 

Quick and clean, Justin thought. Quick and clean. "You were a bet. Someone bet me that I couldn't fuck you. So I did." 

Howie cut in quickly. "And what did you win?" 

"Nothing. It's not important." 

"It's important to me," Howie said, and Justin could hear impatience creeping into his voice. "I mean, if I'm in the middle of a game, I deserve to know what you're playing for." 

"It was nothing," Justin said carefully. "*This* is nothing. It was a stupid conquest. I'm sorry." 

There was another long pause. Justin just wanted to run. Wanted to get out of this bus and away from the way it smelled and looked and sounded and forget that he'd ever seen the inside of it. 

"Whatever," Howie said quietly. "Just get the fuck out of here." 

Justin looked over, and *there* it was. That expression on Howie's face that could only be produced by words like "I've never loved you." The kind of sting that made tears come involuntarily. The kind where you barely hung on until the person walked out the door. The pain of human contact. 

He left, not knowing what Howie was doing behind him. Maybe sitting there in shock that someone had the balls to say those things to him. Maybe trying not to cry because he thought there was something between them, or because he'd been played. Maybe he went back to eating his cereal. The last thought made Justin's blood run cold. 

The bus was empty when he got back. Everyone was out doing their thing. Lance was probably with AJ. At least Justin hoped he was. He sat down at the table and let his fingers drift across JC's open notebook. JC always left his notebooks lying around for everyone to see, not worried that other people would catch glimpses of unfinished thoughts or partial song lyrics. He was confident in them from start to finish. 

Why had he been such a jerk? It wasn't like the situation called for it. Justin could have easily drifted off with the promise of calling and just not called. He could have said he was seeing someone else and that was it. Why did he keep telling Howie that he was a bet? A game? He realized that it was because in the deepest, darkest parts of his mind - the ones Nick Carter could access effortlessly - he wanted Howie to cry. Because he wanted Howie to care. Because *he* cared. 

The only way to get Howie to really understand was to tell him the whole story. And he deserved to know the whole story, really. Except Justin had blocked off all the emergency doors, and there was no way Howie would let him in again. 

He grabbed JC's "I heart New York" pen and ripped a blank page out of the notebook. He hadn't written a letter in years, but he couldn't leave it like this. Even if he never delivered it, it would kill some of the ache. 

*** 

Lance was definitely out with AJ, because Nick was alone on his bus. Justin found him sitting at the table, his own music playing on the stereo. Probably mentally going over the show for that night. 

Justin stood at the head of the bus, arms crossed. Nick didn't even look at him. He just kept bobbing his head, tapping his fingers on the table to the tune of "Looking back on the things I've done...." 

Justin waited. He wasn't going to be the first to speak. He didn't want to give Nick the satisfaction. He stood there until Nick grabbed the remote and turned off the stereo. "Hey." 

"Well, Nick, you said I'd see you Sunday. Here I am." 

"Here you are," Nick replied. "You should be very proud of yourself. I never thought he'd go for it." 

Justin crossed the bus slowly, stopping at Nick's feet and crossing his arms again. "Well, he did. So I guess now you have to blow me." 

Nick grabbed a can of Coke off the table next to him and popped it open. "That's the theory." 

"It's not a theory. The only question is whether or not you'll be able to dance tonight after I fuck the shit out of you." 

Nick waited for his Coke to stop hissing and took a sip. "Have a seat, Justin." 

"No thanks. I think I'll stand." 

Nick traced the top of the can with his fingertip. "Oh, listen to you. You're so upset." 

"Fuck you." 

"Well, you are." Nick leaned back in the booth and gave Justin one of his trademark smirks. Justin wanted to knock his teeth out. "And what you're still not getting here is that you didn't win. I did." 

Justin chewed on the inside of his cheek. Tried not to look fazed. "How do you figure?" 

"Justin, Frank Court is an old friend of my family's. He thought I was playing a joke on you. But the second you thought someone might be onto you, you bolted. And you actually liked him, too." 

"And that's funny?" 

Nick's eyes flared so quickly that Justin almost flinched. "No," Nick said. "It's pathetic. How easily you'll break someone when your reputation is at stake. How easily you'll do any fucking thing I tell you to do. How easily I can make you my Barbie doll and the whole time you actually think you're in charge." Nick took another swig of his Coke and set it loudly on the table. "God, can you imagine how long it's going to take for Howie to have sex *now*? And it's too bad, because he gives such killer blow jobs." 

Justin lunged into the booth before he even knew what he was doing. He grabbed Nick's shirt and yanked him forward so hard that they almost banged heads. He felt his arm knock the can of Coke, heard the empty metallic sound of the aluminum hitting the table, the little sizzle of the liquid spilling and spreading. "We are going to fuck, Nick. *Now*. And I'm going to kick the shit out of you while I do it." 

Nick planted his hands on Justin's chest and shoved him hard enough for Justin to lose his balance and stumble backward. "I'd love to Justin, but I don't feel like it." 

Justin stumbled back into a standing position. "This is *it* for you and your shit, Nick. If it's the last thing I do." He turned on his heel and rushed out before Nick could respond. The last thing Nick needed was a chance to respond. 

Justin pushed through dozens of roadies and no-name performers on the way back to his bus, breathing like he'd just run a marathon. He stumbled on to find Lance at the table in front of his laptop. The letter, which he'd folded and sealed closed with a couple of pieces of tape, was gone. 

Justin tapped the table with his fist. "There was a letter here. It had tape on it. Where is it?" 

Lance looked up cautiously. "I threw it in your bunk." 

Justin hurried back and flung open the curtain, finding it on his blankets next to a couple of magazines. "A pen," he yelled. "I need a pen." 

"I have one," Lance called back. 

Justin came out and grabbed the pen from Lance's hand, putting the letter on the counter and scribbling Howie's name across the outside of it. 

"AJ's pissed at you," Lance said quietly. "He wants to talk to you." 

"Fuck AJ." Justin tossed the pen in Lance's direction and bolted off the bus. 

Justin raced up the steps to Howie's bus to find AJ standing in the kitchen by himself. "There you are," AJ said. 

Justin rolled his eyes. "Well, this is the best fucking day ever. Look, whatever it is, it can wait. Where's Howie?" 

"Why the fuck should I tell you that?" 

"Because I need to talk to him." 

AJ pushed himself off the counter and Justin saw his entire body tighten. "I think you need to talk to me first." 

"Look, AJ, please. "I mean, I *need* to talk to Howie. I'm, like, begging you here." 

Even behind the sunglasses, Justin could see AJ's eyes glaring like a couple of laser pointers. "He's down at the meet-and-greet booth with Kevin and Brian. Signing autographs. Leave him alone." 

"Thanks." Justin took the steps two at a time. 

"What are you gonna do?" AJ called after him. "Walk through the fucking crowd?" 

The gate was blissfully quiet. A few guards were around, and none of them Justin's. Justin stood at the exit and sighed at the crowd, which was swelling and multicolored and packed with thousands of people who would rip his clothes off if they realized who he was. 

Justin pushed his sunglasses farther up on his nose. Like that was going to help. "What the fuck am I doing?" he muttered. 

Then he remembered. Howie. Letter. Nick. Asshole. 

He pushed his way in, trying to keep his head down, and for the first couple of minutes it actually worked. Long enough for him to get a false sense of security that everyone was stoned or busy or just not expecting him to walk by. 

A stupid nine-year-old girl ruined it. A stupid fifth grader in an NSYNC shirt walking around pressed against her mother. She yanked her mother's shirt sleeve and said, "Look! It's Justin." 

She said it barely loud enough for Justin to hear her, but everyone within a mile radius heard it. Then all at once there were sobs and screams and a million hands on him, pawing at him, yanking at his shirt and grabbing at his sunglasses. He couldn't even bother to smile or nod or make an outside attempt at being nice. 

"Get the fuck out of my way," he said, as clearly as possible. Like that was going to help, either. But the autograph booth wasn't even very far away. It was a five-minute walk without the crowd. Not even. But he wasn't even a stone's throw from the security entrance yet. "Bad fucking idea," he mumbled to himself. "Bad fucking idea." Lonnie was going to kill him when he found out. 

He had to turn around and walk back. He had no choice. Maybe he could hop in a golf cart with one of the security guys and get a ride to the booth. Maybe he could sit there and wait for Howie to come back, although he knew he'd chew at his fingernails until they were bloody from the anticipation. He turned back toward the security gate as quickly as the crowd would let him, bumping head on into some guy. Someone's dad, obviously, because the guy had to be at least 40. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, mostly because something about the guy made him to a quick double take. Except no matter how hard he pushed, he still felt the guy on his back, to the point where Justin fantasized about what it would be like to turn around and break the guy's nose with his fist. 

"Fucker," Justin grunted. He hadn't formed the entire word when he felt a sharp pain in his back, right near the base of his spine. He sensed it before he felt it, this quick stab of agony that screamed through his body like a lightning bolt. 

He slumped forward into some girl, balancing on her long enough to turn around. And now he was face to face with the guy - beady dark eyes that were glossy like marbles, focused right on him. 

"What the..." 

Then there was another pain, this one in his stomach. It didn't matter that it was the second one. It was as intense as the first one, and seemed to shred his insides like a set of claws. The guy stepped away and was gone, just as quickly as he'd arrived. Justin looked down in slow motion and pulled his hand away from his stomach. It was covered in blood. 

"Somebody..." That was all he managed to say before his knees buckled, and his line of vision moved from shoulders to waists to feet. Feet and legs everywhere, all blurry like a dream. 

And there more screaming now. Not "oh my God, it's him" screaming, but real screaming. Terror. Confusion. Justin just wanted everyone to back away so he could breathe. 

Then there was a new pair of feet. Clean black pants with a radio attached to the hip. Lonnie. 

"Come on," Lonnie said in a pissed-off father tone. He grabbed Justin's shoulder roughly and tugged upward, and a new wave of pain needled through Justin's body. 

"Don't! I'm hurt! I'm hurt!" 

He heard Lonnie say something that sounded like "Christ" and he was being lifted, out of the sea of legs and up to where he could breathe again. But just barely. 

When the crowd parted for them, Justin knew this was a big deal. He could feel a heavy wetness on him, like he was soaked in blood, but that couldn't be possible yet, could it? He bobbed and jiggled in Lonnie's arms, trying to tuck himself in so he could wrap his arms around Lonnie's neck, but his body wouldn't work properly anymore. Lonnie made it through the security gate and set him down at the same time as about a hundred people came running for them. 

Justin lay on his back, trying to catch his breath. Trying to get his eyes to open all the way. Trying to find where he put his energy. But it was draining, like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub, and even the panic he felt was rapidly diluting into a weird hybrid of confusion and awe. Faces loomed over him, and bodies raced by him, and he heard snippets of frantic conversation and words like "stabbed" and "paramedics." 

And then there was a familiar face. So close that Justin could smell him. Joey. 

"Joe," Justin said. His voice didn't work very well but he couldn't clear his throat, either. He felt Joey's hand across run across his forehead, Joey's palm warm against the clammy skin. "I think it's bad." 

Joey looked down at Justin's body and back up again. "Yeah, it's bad, but they're gonna fix you up, buddy." 

Justin felt Joey's arm near his and grabbed it. "Don't go." 

"I'm not going anywhere, buddy. I'm staying right here until they fix you up." 

"I need...I have..." His teeth were chattering, and the words came harder. "I have a letter...." 

"What letter?" Joey asked, so close Justin could smell his hair gel and the thousand other smells he loved about Joey. "What letter, buddy?" 

Justin motioned to his legs. "In my pocket." He hoped it wasn't covered in blood by now. He hoped it was still legible. Or as legible as anything could be in his handwriting. "I was trying to take it to Howie. I'm sorry." 

He watched Joey reach down and come back with the letter, still neatly folded and taped. "When they fix you up you can give it to him yourself." 

"I'm so sorry, Joey." Tears came with the thought of that, and they didn't help. They just made his chest heave. Made it even harder to take a breath. 

"Don't cry, Justin," Joey begged. "Don't cry. They're gonna fix you up and we'll be out of here and everything will be cool. I promise." He felt Joey's lips on his forehead. Joey's hand stroking his head. 

Suddenly he was lifted, and paramedics were buzzing around like flies. He still felt Joey's hand on him, but everything was so hard, and his violent shivering did nothing to help the cold. 

*** 

Howie heard the screaming across the field, and then the security guard pulled him so quickly that it knocked the pen out of his hand. Then he and Kevin and Brian were being shoved behind the booth, their backs to the splintered wood, the security guards standing almost chest-to-chest with them. 

"What's going on?" Kevin asked. 

"One of NSYNC was attacked. We're just trying to figure out a safe way to get you guys back." 

"Who is it?" Brian asked. "Is he okay?" 

"Justin. And I don't think so. That's all I know." 

"Oh my God," Kevin said, and in Howie's head, the last word seemed to drag on forever. Howie felt light headed, and suddenly there was no noise anywhere, at all. The security guards' lips moved but no words came out. He poked his head around the side of the booth, and the crowd's mouths were open in noiseless screams. He leaned back against the booth and looked up, feeling Brian's hand on his arm. A jet plane was drifting, tiny and white, across the sky, a slender trail of smoke behind it. He felt his knees weaken, and his head spin, and the security guard caught him before he fainted. 


	7. Sunday night

Howie left the lights off on the bus. There was enough glow from the spotlights outside to see the page. Besides, he'd already read the letter a dozen times. But he read it again, curled up by the window, chewing anxiously on his fingernail. No one had come in since Joey gave it to him. Everyone was too scared of what it said. 

Howie wasn't surprised when AJ came in. AJ had always been the one with the guts. AJ slipped into the booth across from Howie and rested his arms on the table, slumping like all his energy was gone. It was a good thing the rest of the weekend was canceled, because none of them had the energy to move. 

"Hey," Howie said, but it was muffled by his thumb. 

"Hey." 

AJ was quiet for a long time. It wasn't an awkward silence. Just a somber one. Like AJ didn't know what to say, so he didn't bother trying. Howie appreciated it because he wasn't sure what to say either. 

AJ finally shifted and stretched his legs under the table, resting his feet next to Howie. "What does it say?" 

Howie let go of it for the first time in an hour and dropped it on the table. "Read it yourself." 

AJ picked up the letter and squinted at it. Even though Howie saw AJ every day of his life, it was still weird seeing him without his sunglasses. AJ held a cigarette out with his left hand, the smoke making a thin blue trail through the darkness. His right hand held the letter close to the window. 

It didn't take AJ long to read it. The letter was only about a page and a half. But it was long enough to say what it needed to say. AJ set it carefully on the table and slid it back to Howie, who folded it and put it back in front of him where he could see it. 

"Do you believe him?" AJ asked quietly. 

"Yeah, I believe him. He died trying to give it to me." Howie reached across the table and slid AJ's cigarettes toward him, extracting one. 

AJ pointed with his own cigarette. "Are you going to smoke one of those?" 

"Yeah, what the fuck." Howie tried to laugh but it came out jagged and unnatural. He put the cigarette in his mouth and fumbled with the lighter with shaking hands. AJ leaned across and wordlessly took the lighter from Howie's hand, striking it on the first try and touching the flame to the tip of Howie's cigarette. The smoke burned Howie's throat and he choked back a cough. 

AJ set the lighter down and rested his hand on Howie's arm, a gentle weight that comforted Howie almost to the point of tears. Finally, after an hour, someone else was there to share a little of the pain and confusion. 

"Nick," AJ said. 

"Yeah. Go figure." Howie took a drag and blew the smoke at the window, watching it curl against the glass and disperse in the air. "This is partly my fault, you know. That he's...dead." 

"Why would you say that?" 

"Because Nick and I fooled around once. Like, four years ago. We didn't have sex or anything. We just..." Howie waved his cigarette in the air. "It was, like, nothing. He wanted to do it again and I felt bad about it and I wouldn't. I'd almost forgotten about it until I read this. I just...it's the only reason I can think of why he would fuck me like this." 

AJ barely reacted. He nodded a little, his eyes dark and sad. "What are you going to do?" 

"I don't know. I just..." Howie sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling tears like pin pricks on the lids of his eyes. "You guys are like my family, but I'm done with this, AJ. I can't do this anymore. I'm out." 

More long silence. They sat still, locked in place, pondering the enormity of that comment. What it meant to the last 10 years of their lives. What it meant for the next 10. 

"Me too," AJ said. 

"No, AJ, don't say it just because I...." 

"No." AJ shook his head solemnly. "I got burned by this too, man. This is broken. I mean, broken in a way that can't be fixed." 

Howie took another deep breath and ran a finger under his eyes. "Does Nick know about the letter?" 

"Nick hasn't come out of the bus since he found out about Justin." 

"Is he upset?" 

AJ shook his head slowly and actually smirked a little. "Howie, I can't believe you still give a flying fuck whether or not he's upset." 

Howie bit his lip hard, staring at the lights outside so hard that his eyeballs hurt. He focused on the table again and pulled an empty Coke can toward him, flicking a sprinkle of ash inside it. He watched the cigarette in his hand - tiny smoldering embers, the clean white paper burning slowly toward his fingers. He was broken, he realized. It was time to restructure. "I don't," he said simply. He met AJ's stare and narrowed his eyes. "I don't, AJ. I want to see him go down." 

*** 

Their next show was three days later, in Toronto. Howie had always liked the city. He'd met a lot of nice people there. Maybe it was fitting that they'd be the ones to get the biggest show. 

Justin's death was still everywhere - on the news, on the covers of newspapers, in every entertainment brief. They caught the stalker almost immediately, and that made it buzz even harder. The Backstreet Boys continued in near silence, curled into their bunks with books or magazines or cell phones, as if they didn't notice what was going on around them. Howie kept his letter in the inside flap of his suitcase, close enough that he could read it when he wanted to, but hidden enough that no one other than he and AJ knew what it said. 

They went through the motions getting ready for the show, drinking enough Coke to get them wired and sifting through their costumes like they did at every city. Nick put his arm around Howie on their way to the stage. "You okay, D?" 

"Yeah," Howie mumbled. And for a split second he wanted to grab AJ and call the whole thing off. Let the sound guy keep the money they gave him and just tell him not to go through with it. This group was everything to Howie. All he'd ever wanted out of life. And it wasn't always perfect, but it was his. And maybe Nick was fucked up, but he was the same Nick that Howie had known since Nick was 12. And Nick couldn't be _that_ different, could he? 

Howie looked sideways at AJ, and then back at Nick. Back at those beautiful eyes like ice chips, that jaw set in a grimace. Someone is dead, Howie thought. Someone is dead because of this. And another hadn't slept in three days. That wasn't even counting what Justin's group was going through - Joey for watching him die, Lance for losing his lazy lover (or so AJ had told him), Chris for joking his way through the times he should have held close, JC for being too spaced out to appreciate Justin when he was alive. And suddenly, he couldn't bring himself to care about Nick. 

They stopped at the stage door, spreading their arms so their costume people could give them a final once-over. The sound guys fastened their head sets, adjusted their microphones. Howie already sensed the energy from the crowd, swelling and rolling up onto the stage. 

Howie watched one of the stylists run her fingers through Nick's bangs, making sure he looked perfect for when they stepped out on stage. Nick was stoic. He was used to being touched. 

"Tell me, Nick," Howie said, "do you miss Justin?" 

Nick's eyes moved sideways in their sockets. "What?" 

"Do you? I mean, I know you were such good friends and all." 

Howie felt Brian and Kevin's startled glances, but he couldn't take his eyes off Nick. 

Nick shrugged. "I guess. Yeah." 

"I know how the two of you liked to play games. And make bets. Bets that one of you couldn't fuck with someone's head." 

Brian's brow furrowed. "Howie, maybe we should pick another time to talk about this. We're 10 seconds away from going on stage." 

"No," Howie said. "I want to him to answer that." His eyes locked with Nick's, invisible waves of hostility passing from one stare to the other. Nick's expression changed in a split second, from its usual complacency to battle mode. The advantage of knowing Nick for 10 years was that Howie knew that somewhere inside Nick's head, Nick _needed_ to tell him. He was dying to tell him that he could do whatever he wanted, and there wasn't a fucking thing anyone else could do about it. Nick wanted them to know that he was the one doing the controlling, rather than the one being controlled. Howie could see it coming to the surface, crackling in Nick's eyes like a camp fire. 

"Look," Brian tried, "we're all stressed and we've been through a lot..." 

"No," Nick snapped. "I'll answer it. What do you want to know, Howie? Did Justin and I make a bet that he could fuck with your head? Yeah, we did. We only did it because I thought you'd be a bit stronger than to fall for it." 

"Guys," Brian protested weakly, "now isn't the..." 

Howie took a step closer. "And you were the reason he was trying to get to me." 

"Yes, Howie. Yes, I set it up. Yes, he was probably out in the crowd in the first place looking for you because I fucked with his head. Are you happy now?" 

"But why?" Howie's voice was steady. Steadier than it had ever been. 

"Because I could. Because he was Justin Timberlake, king of the fucking world, and I could _still_ fuck with his head. And yours. And every single sheep in that crowd, for that matter. You either let people sink you or you swim to the surface. It's about time someone taught you that." 

"Thank you, Nick. Thank you so much for teaching me that." 

"You're fucking welcome," Nick replied, but he was cut off by the stage manager sticking his head through the curtain. 

"Nick," the stage manager said harshly, "would you shut the hell up?" 

"Why?" Nick snapped. "We're having a conversation." 

"Your mic's on and the entire fucking arena can hear you." 

Everyone froze. Dead silence. Nick's jaw dropped a little, and Howie watched him slowly regain composure. "You wouldn't," Nick said slowly. "You wouldn't let everyone hear that. You wouldn't do that to yourself." 

"He didn't say they could hear me, Nick. He said they can hear you." 

Nick's eyes narrowed to slits, flashing like lightning. The stage manager was still frozen to the left of them, probably for the first time in his career not having a clue what to do. Nick tore off his headset and threw it on the ground, reaching Howie in one broad step and tugging his shirt so they were chest-to-chest. "I knew him better than you ever did," Nick said in a low voice. 

"Yeah, but I fucked him." 

Nick let go and spun around, striding to the curtain and opening it enough to look out at the crowd. There was no screaming. No waving signs. Just a quiet, low mumble, and the show was over. 


End file.
